


All That Glitters

by inoreuct



Series: Of Salt and Freckles [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, AsaNoya - Freeform, Baker! Yamaguchi, Battle Scenes, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Bokuaka - Freeform, Bottom Hinata Shouyou, Bottom Yamaguchi Tadashi, Character Death, Coronation Ceremonies, Epic Battles, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, Final Battle, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gore, Grief, Happy Ending, KageHina - Freeform, Karasuno, Kidnapping, Kissing, KuroKen - Freeform, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prince! Tsukki, Rebellion, Revolution, Royal Weddings, Royalty, SakuAtsu, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Slavery, Smut, Tanakiyo, Top Kageyama Tobio, Top Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima Kei is a Little Shit, daisuga - Freeform, iwaoi - Freeform, no beta we die like men, tsukkiyama - Freeform, ushiten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 63,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27403375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoreuct/pseuds/inoreuct
Summary: The spoiled, entitled son of an unjust king and queen despised by their own people; An orphaned baker with a vendetta and a thirst for revenge and justice. Throw in a little romance, a pinch of angst (okay, fine, maybe more like two handfuls), a few plot twists and couple of good friends, and you've got the perfect rebellion, no?
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu, Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji, Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Kozume Kenma, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi, Shimizu Kiyoko/Tanaka Ryuunosuke, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Tendou Satori
Series: Of Salt and Freckles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964302
Comments: 96
Kudos: 153





	1. It All Started with Inefficiency

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thank you thank you THANK YOU to Vicki Sanders (aesthetic_cl0wn) and faithireland for brainstorming with me! I would have never gotten this fic under control if it weren't for you two❤️ And to my dear reader: Thank you for giving my story a chance. I won't hold you up any longer; enjoy! (and be horrified at my obsessive overuse of semi-colons—)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. Salis means salt in Latin and you cannot stop me because Tsukki is Prince Tsukishima Kei of Salt—

A very irritated nineteen-year-old Prince Tsukishima Kei of Salis tsked as he strode briskly down the concrete pavement, sneering in distaste as he was jostled and brushed against by random commoners he didn’t know, in their random clothes by brands he would never lower himself to wear. _Disgusting. Like rats in a sewer, all of them. Scuttling around all over the place…_ On normal days in the palace, Tsukki was already a rude, spoiled, entitled asshole who strongly believed that everybody who wasn’t of royal blood was far beneath him. Today, however, the heat of the scorching sun bearing down upon him only served to make his mood worse, not to mention irritate his pale, delicate skin.

He dabbed at the sweat dripping down his forehead with the back of his hand and as much of his remaining dignity as he could muster, before angrily jabbing his elbow into the side of a heavy, corpulent man who was in his way. The middle-aged commoner turned around with a shocked exclamation and fury scrawled all over his face before he wisely shut himself up and moved aside meekly; Prince Tsukishima was notorious for his brutality and lack of compassion. He often had commoners thrown into the palace dungeons on a whim, just because they rubbed him the wrong way.

However, if he did that right now, more than half of the city would be imprisoned. On a late Saturday afternoon, the streets of Salis were bursting with life; merchant’s stalls covered nearly every square inch of the pavements and cobblestoned squares, selling food and drink and goods apparently from every corner of the world; A portly woman advertised her variety of charms and amulets that were laid out on the length of red cloth stretched across the table of her booth, claiming that they guarded against evil and warded off bad luck. A reed-thin man waved small, slender glass vials of fragrant attars in the air, offering them to ladies who passed by, the amber oil sloshing within their transparent containers.

_Tch. Idiots._ Tsukki swerved to the side just quickly enough to avoid a collision with a tangle of limbs and knotted black hair, the twin girls ( _devil spawn_ , Tsukki thought) of the widowed seamstress who was currently measuring out yards of bright red tulle with her arm. The sounds of music, laughter and bargaining voices filled the air, along with the many scents and smells; the homey, powdery scent of fresh-baked fennel bread, the sweet, heady fragrance of flowers, the musky stink of sweat that emanated from the writhing mass of people.

Tsukki sighed as he finally ducked into a quiet side street, its seclusion offering him a brief reprieve from the bustling crowds and the sun that seemed intent on burning his fair, pampered skin lobster-red no matter how much expensive, high-end sunscreen he slathered on. He took a moment to readjust himself, smoothing a hand over his previously pressed forest-green silk suit and matching pants, running careful fingers through soft platinum-gold curls, pushing black wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his straight, aristocratic nose with the tip of a finger and blotting away any stray streaks of sweat.

Tsukki would usually never allow himself such a blatant loss of composure, but he was only heading to the royal family’s resident bakery for a paramount reason; the strawberry shortcake that was included with their weekly order of baked goods and sweets wasn’t delivered to the palace six days ago. The servants sent to pick it up had all come back empty-handed, saying that the cake wasn’t ready yet, and Tsukki had been feeling especially peckish that afternoon, deciding to take matters into his own hands when none of the food they had on hand satisfied him.

He started off again, walking a short distance down the rough brick path, his patent-leather loafers tapping decisively against the ground, before he stepped into the shady heaven of a small, quaint, two-story bakery, tucked secretly into the corner of the street, often overlooked by the eye with its plain, unassuming facade.

Tsukki sighed imperceptibly with relief as he swung open the tinted glass door, the air rushing out and enveloping him like a relaxing wash of cool water, along with the soft tinkling chime of a small bell hung on the doorframe. The bakery was owned by a commoner by the name of Yamaguchi Tadashi, who apparently inherited it after his parents were captured and sold abroad as slaves when he was a mere eleven years old. Rumour had it that they were captured because they dared to stand up to a royal guard who had been bullying a homeless woman living on the streets. The royal family had chanced upon their baked goods by pure accident when the queen had gotten hungry on a day out.

Of course, they’d tried to convince Yamaguchi to move into the palace and stay there as their resident baker, and of course, he’d declined. They had tried to bribe him with the promise of top-notch lodgings and a six-digit salary per month, and yet he’s still refused. The royal family couldn’t do anything about the situation even if they wanted to, for Yamaguchi’s pastries and sweets really were the best; they were god-tier, and no others could compare. He made all his goods by hand with the help of three assistants, and as far as Tsukki could tell was extremely adamant about using all-traditional methods to bake.

Tsukki had never met Yamaguchi Tadashi in person, but he was fairly sure that the baker wasn’t the small girl with the straw-coloured ponytail who was standing behind the waist-high counter. _Geh. More commoners._ “Hello. I would like you to tell me why, _exactly_ , is the royal family’s strawberry shortcake six days late?” Tsukki asked while quirking up an immaculately-groomed blond eyebrow, his voice completely devoid of every emotion except annoyance.

The clerk blanched, her eyes widening and fingers death-gripping the edge of the white marble counter, obviously taken aback and a little scared of Tsukki’s cold hostility. “Oh! Um… Hello, Your Highness. Well, you s-see—”

Tsukki huffed through his nose and rolled his eyes, propping his left hand on an angular hip. “Hurry it up, woman, I don’t have all day.”

Startled, the clerk squeaked, her light brown eyes going even bigger as she stammered nervously. “T-There was a shortage of almond flour—”

“Is there a problem, Hitoka-chan?”

Tsukki turned to the right, where a man had come out of what appeared to be a back room, closing the door quietly before the prince could see the inside. _So this must be the famous Yamaguchi Tadashi, huh?_ The man was tall, almost taller than Tsukki (and that was saying a lot because Tsukki was _tall_ tall), and he had shiny olive-green hair that was tucked into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. A closer look revealed white streaks across the burlap apron he wore tied around his waist (Tsukki assumed that it was flour), and a smattering of dark freckles across tan cheekbones and the ridge of his nose. He looked... well, baker-ish.

He walked behind the counter, placing a comforting hand on the clerk’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go and have a break? I’ll handle this,” he reassured with a small smile, nodding as the blonde girl scurried off immediately with a grateful grin, obviously relieved to be removed from the tense atmosphere.

“Well, as Hitoka-chan was saying, there was a problem at the mill and we had a shortage of almond flour. If you had not asked for the cake to be made with that flour specifically, it would not have been late,” Yamaguchi stated cooly, a sort of quiet defiance in his tone. “My apologies, but I would appreciate it if you could be more cordial to my friends in the future, Your Highness.” He said the last two words as though the title was a insult, and Tsukki didn’t like his tone one bit.

Nevertheless, the crown prince was stunned. Nobody had ever had the guts to contradict him before; his word was as good as the law, and it might as well be, even though his parents were the ones ruling Salis and not him. Not to mention, he had never seen a commoner who held himself with the quiet regality that Yamaguchi did; he carried himself like a royal. However, Tsukki’s shock did nothing to dull the annoyance that rose along with the defiance in the baker’s tone, the clear challenge in his words. _Oh? Looks like he’s inherited his parents’ guts._

The baker was staring at him intensely, waiting for the prince to say something, his gaze determined and focused. Tsukki said nothing; he was unsettled by those dark eyes, and he brushed off the skitter that raced over his skin, hiding his silence under the pretence that the other man wasn’t worth his time or unnecessary words.  
Finally breaking eye contact, Yamaguchi slid open the glass display case on the left of the counter, carefully taking out a white and pink cake slathered in cream and decorated with fresh strawberries, packing it into a white vanguard box which he tied closed using a length of pearly satin ribbon. “Here’s your cake. Have a nice day.”

Tsukki finally unfroze, frowning derisively as a mean little smirk twisted his thin lips. “That smart mouth is going to get you in trouble one day, you know. Just like how it got _them_ in trouble.” He immediately knew that he’d struck a nerve; the baker tensed, lifting his hands from where he’d planted them flat on the countertop and crossing them over his chest defensively.

“I’d appreciate it if you could get out of my shop, _Your Highness_.” There it was again; the taunt-like title. Yamaguchi had gritted the words out from between clenched teeth, his jaw tensed like he was biting back more unsavoury words. His eyes were narrowed, filled with blatant dislike that bordered on hate; it was obvious that he still resented the royal family for taking his parents away.

 _Well, someone’s riled up._ Tsukki smirked down the bridge of his nose at the baker, honey-amber eyes framed by fine, pale lashed peeking over the rim of his glasses before he pushed them up. “Have a nice day to you too, Yamaguchi Tadashi.” With that, Tsukki picked up the cake box by its handle, pushing open the shop’s door and listening to the tiny bell tied to its frame tinkle in his ear.

The warm, humid air instantly enveloped him like a suffocating blanket. He stopped short, inhaling deeply in annoyance as the smirk dropped from his face, instantly wondering if the shade and cool air was worth stepping back into the bakery. He decided against it. Pulling on his lapels, be took a bracing breath and set off back towards the castle, already dreading the sun and the filth and the commoners and the noise and sweat and essentially just _everything_. For a crown prince, he sure disliked his own city.

*

Tsukki huffed, turning around in his bed, sitting up slightly to punch his pillow into a more comfortable shape before settling back down. When he’d gotten home, the first thing he did was wash the filth of the streets off his skin, jumping out of his clothes straight into an icy shower and slathering up with aloe vera when he was done. He’d found himself thinking of a pair of eyes. Pure, bitter coffee-dark, the same shade as his favourite Arabica and Robusta beans, smouldering with barely-concealed defiance. He’d shaken his head slightly, trying to knock the memory out of his mind. He’d failed miserably. The memory of those intense coffee eyes had been stuck in his mind all day, and it plagued him even now, as he lay beneath his dark, silken sheets, silver moonlight filtering onto pale skin while the prince tried desperately to fall asleep. _Damn it. Damn it!_

He’d tried everything; from ordering the court musicians to play right next to him as loud as they could (he had a feeling that he’d never be able to forget what Vivaldi’s Four Seasons sounded like), to duelling and sword-fighting with the royal guards in the open-air training arena, to taking the longest, most lavender-laced bath of his life, but he couldn’t for the life of him get those damned eyes off his mind. Tsukki groaned, shoving the heels of his palms over his own eyes as he flipped over onto his back.

Those bitter-coffee eyes only shined all the brighter behind his closed eyelids, and Tsukki ran frustrated fingers through his golden hair, mussed and messy from all his tossing and turning. _Alright. Fine. I’ll go back next Monday. If only to… to... analyse his character. Yeah. To analyse his character. He had no right to talk to me that way… I’ll see what I should... do..._ Throwing an exhausted arm over his face, the prince finally fell asleep, slipping into the grasps of darkness.


	2. Surprising What A Little Eavesdropping Can Yield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when a soldier loses his will to fight?

_Fuck._ Tsukki walked down the now-familiar grey path, his hands tucked into the pockets of a navy silk suit and the felt bottoms of his leather shoes tapping crisply against the old, rough bricks. _I’ve totally gone soft, haven’t I?_ Tsukki had to take a moment to recalibrate his brain when he realised that the fact hadn’t bothered him, not even remotely. 

Since he had first stepped foot into Yamaguchi’s bakery four months ago, something in the baker’s dark eyes had sunk its hooks into Tsukki’s heart and it hadn’t let go since. Week after week after week, he made excuses to go back and pick up their weekly goods personally (his parents were still under the impression that he suddenly just wanted the extra exercise), back to the small, quaint little bakery tucked into the corner of the street. He still despised the crowds, yes, and the sun, and especially his state of disarray after fighting his way through the throngs of the market (it was always jam-packed, even on a Monday afternoon), but he still found himself going back to that little bakery time and time again. He didn’t exactly know why, not yet. He just knew that he didn’t want to stop seeing those intense bitter-coffee eyes, and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to stop seeing their owner too. 

As the weeks went by, Tsukki… changed. Every time he stepped out of Yamaguchi’s bakery, he was a little less prickly and just a little softer. It had gotten to the point where he was actually _helping_ people, just little acts of kindness like dropping a couple of loose coins into a beggar’s hat and moving on without sneering in disgust, but acts of kindness nonetheless. The prince had an inkling that his newfound generosity had something (well, everything) to do with a certain nineteen-year-old olive-haired boy who had galaxies in his eyes and munched through potato cheese bread like the carbs and calories were nothing.

The strange thing was, he didn’t mind going soft. The thought surprised him immensely; the notoriously harsh, unforgiving Prince Tsukishima Kei of Salis, okay with going soft. Tsukki snorted (albeit delicately; he was still a prince, after all) in disbelief. _This’d do something to my reputation._ When the prince had set foot into Yamaguchi’s bakery the second time, the other man had immediately been on guard, before a very irritated, reluctant, awkward Tsukki apologised with a, “I’m sorry. About last Saturday. What I said was uncalled for,” staring determinedly at the glossy wooden floorboards. Yamaguchi hadn’t said a word, instead preferring to watch Tsukki with a sort of detached interest before the prince broke the silence again. “I’m here to pick up this week’s order.” 

From those words onwards, the both of them had progressed into some sort of companionable yet awkward civility. Every Monday, Tsukki would go to the bakery and pick up that week’s order of baked goods, hanging around to chat for a few minutes before his inevitable departure. Yamaguchi was sort of a paradox to the prince. The baker would always try to make small talk to him, tiny details like interesting things that had happened recently and _how was your week, Tsukki?_ The prince was constantly thinking _why does he want to tell me all this?_ and _why exactly does he think that I care?_ and sometimes, when Tsukki was lying alone in his bed and his thoughts were still and clear, … _why do I want him to tell me more?_

The prince still didn’t know why he apologised. _The_ Prince Tsukishima Kei never apologised, much less to a mere commoner. But those damned _eyes…_ Tsukki knew that they would haunt him for the rest of his life if he didn’t see them any other way other than filled with fury and defiance. But he’d apologised, and they were on good terms now. _So why do I keep coming back?_

Tsukki sighed as he wrapped his hand around the handle of the bakery’s tinted glass door, the cool metal and air feeling absolutely heavenly against his heated skin as he pushed it open, and the tiny brass bell chimed merrily. Maybe it was the way that Yamaguchi’s eyes always lit up when he saw Tsukki come in through the door if he was manning the counter, seeming to glow in the bakery’s lights. Maybe it was the way his lips lifted in a small, happy smile when the prince commented on his normally one-sided chatter, even if his comments were monosyllabic. Maybe it was because Tsukki craved the breathless tingling rush that stole his breath away whenever he saw that smile, the urge to do whatever it took to ensure that Yamaguchi would be happy and smile like that for the rest of his days, to protect and provide and care for him.

For the first time, the prince let himself wonder (if only briefly) if this was what love felt like, before he scoffed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling at his own foolishness. Prince Tsukishima Kei didn’t _love_ ; partly because he didn’t know how to. Even so, he was pretty sure that love entailed the ideas of courting the one you loved, and he didn’t know how to court, either. Love didn’t exist in the world of royalty. People married for business, convenience and alliances’ sake, and wholesome, non-toxic, non-dysfunctional families were few and far between. Tsukki’s wasn’t one of them. _Love doesn’t exist for me._

This time, however, there were no dark eyes lighting up by way of greeting, nor any content smiles to be found. Tsukki checked the white gold watch that was buckled snugly across his wrist; he was slightly earlier than he usually was when he came to pick up the baked goods, but by his knowledge, at least one staff should have been in the bakery, and they would be at the counter. Yamaguchi or Yachi, or perhaps Nishinoya or Tanaka, the other two of Yamaguchi’s assistants which Tsukki hadn’t met yet, but learned about through the baker’s chatter. Pausing near the doorway and surveying the empty front room, the prince willed the knot of unease that had twisted into being in his stomach to go away. _They’re just commoners. Why am I worried about them?_ The oil lamps were turned on, blazing brightly as ever. The usual array of cakes and sweets, painted in a sprawling variety of pastels and neons, sat peacefully in their glass display case atop the counter. The only things missing were the people themselves. But if he listened closely… 

Tsukki relaxed when he heard faint voices drifting out of the back room through the unlatched door, a tension he didn’t notice leaving his body. _They must have missed the bell._ He walked forward, wholly intent on barging in and demanding Yamaguchi’s attention, but what he heard stopped him short. 

“Not yet! We can’t… It would be suicide.” 

_...Yachi?_

“You’re right. We don’t have enough influence yet. Or inside help. Or manpower. There are guards stationed all over the castle… If we storm in unprepared like this, it wouldn’t even be a battle; it’d be a manslaughter.” 

_Yamaguchi?_ It was the baker’s voice speaking those words, but somehow Tsukki couldn’t reconcile that voice to the face of the man he knew, always happy and smiley except that day they’d met. It was indeed Yamaguchi’s voice, but it also just _wasn’t._ It was filled with anger, and determination, and so much _hate_ that it seethed and boiled and bubbled like witches’ brew in a cauldron. Tsukki crept closer as a new voice joined the conversation, rough and gravelly. 

“And there will still be people who are loyal to the king and queen for god knows whatever reasons.”

 _Nishinoya? Or is that Tanaka? What the heck are they talking about?_ Tsukki prided himself on his prodigious IQ of 183, but he just couldn’t wrap his head around the situation. _...They’re planning a rebellion, aren’t they?_ He reached for the door’s handle, moving to yank the door open before he stopped himself. _No. I need a plan. If I can stop this… Maybe I’ll finally be able to prove to Papa and Mama that I’m worthy of their love._

The prince walked back over to the door, opening it so it hit the bell and made it ring obnoxiously loud. He closed it again, pretending as if he had just stepped into the shop when Yamaguchi slipped out of the back room, his usual smile on his lips. “Ah, Tsukki! I was wondering when you’d be here. Sorry, we were just discussing some monetary matters. I’ll bring your stuff out.” With a small smile at Tsukki’s curt nod, Yamaguchi disappeared into the kitchen to the left of the counter, soon reappearing with a large white vanguard carrier held together with the bakery’s trademark white satin ribbon. “Here you go!” He slid it across the countertop, reaching his hand out for the sack of gold that Tsukki handed him in exchange. He tucked the money away somewhere under the counter and straightened up somewhat hesitantly. “So… I’ll see you next Monday?” 

If the prince didn’t know better, he’d have said that Yamaguchi sounded rather hopeful. The baker’s expression was impossible to see, not with his face tilted down under the pretence of retying his flour-streaked apron. _Tch. Don’t look forward to it. You mean nothing to me._ Somehow, Tsukki couldn’t get the words out; they were lodged in his throat when he looked at Yamaguchi, in all his silky-olive-haired, freckle-cheeked, flour-streaked apron-string-fiddling adorableness. _Wait… Adorable? No, he’s not adorable. He’s just a worthless commoner. Who could be planning a rebellion, no less! He’s the enemy!_ Tsukki didn’t manage to say that either, and even in his mind the words sounded weak and unconvincing. “Mmm,” he mumbled, glad that he only blushed at the back of his neck, which was easy to hide with his high silk collar. He grabbed the box by its handle and hurried out of the bakery without another word, ignoring the discomfort of the rather sharp vanguard digging into his fingers and leaving a rather bemused Yamaguchi in his wake.

*

Tsukki groaned into his pillow, the smooth cotton pressed into creases against his face. It was becoming a rather common occurrence now, falling asleep to the thought of a certain freckled sunshine child who always seemed to smell of fresh flour and butter. But Tsukki couldn’t think of Yamaguchi the same way, not after what he’d overheard, and one thought, one _decision_ kept running through his mind, blazing like a red-hot iron brand behind his eyelids and resolutely keeping him awake; _Yamaguchi or my parents. Yamaguchi or my parents. Yamaguchi or my parents._ If he managed to resolve this entire maybe-rebellion thing, he might finally be able to prove to his parents that he was worthy. That he was worthy to be the king of Salis one day, that he was worthy of their time and affection. But he didn’t know if he’d be able to stand what would happen to Yamaguchi.

Rebellion against the monarchy was a blatant act of treason, and only one punishment would be used; execution and beheading by guillotine. The thought of Yamaguchi being wrestled onto the wooden platform, his neck clapped into the lunette, dark eyes filled with tears and silently screaming _how could you, how could you, how could you_ … Tsukki sunk a frustrated fist into the side of his pillow. _Why do I care so much about him? This is just infatuation. Somehow. He must have… beguiled me with those dark eyes of his. I don’t love him. ...Do I?_

The prince sighed, using his arms to prop himself up and flip around so that he could slip his feet into custom-made fluffy mink-fur slippers that sat on the floor next to his king-sized bed. He didn’t bother with the silk nightgown that hung on the hook drilled into the white plaster of his wall; he would have taken it off soon anyway. Tsukki stood up and walked over to his gilded dressing table, his cotton breeches hanging low and loose on his hips as he rested his palms on the table with his fingers curling over the edge. A gust of wind blew in through the balcony doors which had been left open just a crack, riffling the sheer organza curtains and running soothing fingers through his tangled curls. 

Limpid amber-gold eyes met their reflection in a flawless plane mirror. Tsukki sighed again as he blinked slowly, his long, pale lashes catching against each other before they separated. His eyes flicked away and travelled along the marks peeking over the bare tops of his lean, muscled shoulders, the beginnings of twisted, raised ropes of old scar tissue that he knew criss-crossed all over his back. The physical remnants of belts and whips lashing against his skin at every minute mistake he made, at every hint of compassion or kindness he showed, until he had been turned into an unfeeling robot.

The king and queen were utterly horrid to everybody except their equally horrible ”friends”, especially the commoners of their city; the laws and taxes they enforced were absolutely unjust, not to mention that people could be imprisoned for the most inane of reasons. _Ah. I suppose I wasn’t much better than them in that aspect._ Moreover, they apparently hadn’t deigned Tsukki important enough to treat him like a real son instead of a doll to force their ideals and beliefs upon. They had been obsessed with making him strong, with cutting the unstable, fluctuating influence of emotions out of his life. _But it was worth it. No one is stronger than I am. I can bear more pain that our entire 1st Royal Battalion put together._

Tsukki looked back into his own eyes as they seemed to brighten, gold clashing against gold. _I will never be hurt emotionally. And when the time comes, I will take a good woman as my wife and make her queen. I will have children of royal blood to carry on the bloodline. I will have sons who will rule Salis after I pass. I will have daughters that will marry into other families to solidify alliances and be good queens._

The prince drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and only then did he realise he was trembling. He couldn’t look away from his own reflection; he saw something in his amber eyes, and the heavy weight of the truth was pinning him in place. _I don’t want to._ Another breath, steadier this time. _I don’t want to be strong; I want to be weak, for him. I want to feel. I don’t want to marry a woman, I only want…_ Another breath, sure and calm. _Him. I want him._ And then his lungs hitched, squeezing painfully halfway through his fourth breath. _But I can’t have him._

Tsukki felt exhaustion wash over him in a soft wave, turning his mind hazy and his limbs to lead. He finally broke eye contact and dragged his feet back to his bed, barely managing to wriggle under his sheets before his eyelids fluttered shut. He was strong, a soldier through and through; he had built walls of ice around his heart to protect it, and he viciously fought away anyone who got near. But somehow, Yamaguchi Tadashi had managed to slip past every defense he had built up, chipping away at those icy walls with sweet smiles and dark, regal eyes. So what happens when a soldier loses his will to fight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? I’m writing long chapters? Has hell frozen over too?!


	3. Welcome to the Rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cheers to @faithireland for hyping me up for this chappie ;]

Yamaguchi puffed out his cheeks and sighed, leaning forward to prop his elbow on the cold marble countertop and rest his chin in his hands, his short ponytail tickling the back of his neck. He glanced at the tarnished, antique clock that hung on the pastel yellow wall. _Any time now… Wait._ The baker straightened up with wide eyes, pressing his forearms flat against the countertop and dragging them backwards until his fingertips were pressing against the edge before they trailed off, his arms dropping back down to hang limply at his sides. _Not again._ He sucked in a large breath as his lungs expanded, holding it in until they started to burn, and he let all the air out in one gush as he planted his palms flat on the counter again, leaning his weight against them and looking down. He closed his eyes tightly, full brows drawing together in a slight frown. _Damn it, Tsukki._

Yamaguchi had promised himself that he wouldn’t look forward to the prince’s visits anymore; and yet, this was the third time that day he had found himself looking at the clock, eagerly awaiting Tsukki’s arrival. _He’s the enemy. Mama and Papa are gone because of his family. Don’t forget that._ He had very few memories of his parents left, and he clung onto them like precious jewels; mornings in their little bakery, laughing and joking together as golden sunlight spilled in through the windows and the smell of fresh pastry wafted through the air. Creating his first baked apple strudel with his father’s help. Carefully molding delicate, colourful fondant flowers for cake decorations next to his mother. He didn’t usually get so nostalgic, but sometimes, his heart ached with the thought of what he could have had, and with that ache came a cold fury, a thirst for revenge; revenge on the royals who had taken his family away from him.

At a mere eleven years old, Yamaguchi had been left to fend for himself; after his parents were gone, he’d barely made enough money off whatever baked goods he made from the ingredients they already had stocked up. He had no living relatives, and he would have been in deep trouble if the queen hadn’t decided to try one of his cupcakes that day. _Still… Tsukki’s family is the reason I lost mine. I was only a child, for god’s sake._ An image suddenly flitted, unbidden, into his mind; a thin young boy dressed in a white shirt and beige trousers, his curly blond hair tousled in the sunlight, still growing into his gangly limbs and overly large glasses frames. Yamaguchi bit his lower lip. _...He was only a child too, wasn’t he. But—_

The tinkle of a bell interrupted Yamaguchi’s thoughts, and he looked up to see Tsukki closing the bakery door only to blink in surprise; Tsukki wasn’t wearing his usual suit. Instead, a simple, long-sleeved cotton tunic clung to his torso, tucked into a full-length, fitted pair of tan leather pants. His usually immaculate hair was slightly wind-swept, and Yamaguchi had the sudden urge to run his fingers through it. _Damn, how does he look so good all the ti— No._ He gave himself a mental two-handed slap. _He’s the enemy._ He offered the prince a small smile. “No fancy clothes today?”

Tsukki didn’t reply, striding briskly towards the counter and stopping right before his hips slammed into it, staring straight into Yamaguchi’s eyes with a look of brazen determination; it was honestly quite comical. He opened his mouth to speak, but it just hovered open for a second before he closed it again. The prince looked away uncomfortably, his brows furrowing and clenching his jaw, his fingers tightening on the slim black leather folio he was holding before he seemed to gather his wits and turned back to Yamaguchi. “I want to join the rebellion.” 

_What._ Yamaguchi blinked twice in quick succession, trying to hide the sudden panic which had his heart clenched in an iron grip. _Okay, okay. Play dumb. Just play dumb._ “I’m sorry?” he asked, his eyes wide in what he hoped was an innocent expression, resolutely keeping his face neutral and devoid of any signs that could have given him away. 

Tsukki scoffed. “Don’t play dumb.”

_Shit._

“I overheard you last Monday. You were planning for a rebellion. I want in.” The prince was leaning forwards, far enough that he and Yamaguchi were nearly nose to nose, and the baker tried to ignore the way his heart was suddenly beating wildly as though it wanted to punch a hole straight out of his ribcage. 

Yamaguchi swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Well… What if we weren’t planning a rebellion? What if we were planning something else instead?”

“Then I’d forget about this entire conversation and everything I’d heard, and I’d ask you to do the same.” Tsukki’s voice was dark; dangerous, just like that feline smirk that adorned his lips.

Yamaguchi’s chest felt like someone had wrapped a sheet tightly around it ( _oh god, is this what ladies feel like when they wear corsets?_ ) when Tsukki leaned ever closer, his golden eyes bright and unsettling in the afternoon sunlight. “And what if I refuse to let you join?” he asked a little breathlessly, more statement than question as the distance between them became dangerously small, the air charged and potently electric enough to send sparks whizzing all over his skin. 

“Then I’d tell my parents everything I heard, and your little operation would be over before it even started,” the prince taunted, his whisper so mocking and spiteful he was surprised Yamaguchi didn’t slap him right then and there. Tsukki tried not to let his guilt and pain show on his face when he saw the flash of hurt in those gorgeous dark eyes; he couldn’t afford to lose his shot, not before he could prove himself. _I’m sorry; I just need you to give me a chance. Please, I’m sorry._ Tsukki leant forward even more; their noses were nearly brushing now. He gritted the words out through the pain taking root and radiating from his heart. “But are you really going to look me in the eye and say that you weren’t planning a rebellion?”

_He was just toying with me and baiting me the whole time…?_ Yamaguchi’s chest tightened even more, this time with annoyance and anger at himself. He should have known better than to expect anything more from the prince; Tsukki was royalty, after all. A commoner like himself meant nothing more to him than an ant that he would spend an indefinite amount of time toying with, before he inexorably crushed it under the heel of his patent-leather shoes. But Tsukki had changed, hadn’t he? He had become _cordial_ , at least, and now he had just reverted to the way he was before, the way all royals were; an arrogant asshole. Yamaguchi knew that his “cordiality” was too good to be true. _It was all an act, wasn’t it?_ So why did he feel so damn disappointed and betrayed and _hurt_? _I mean nothing to him. I mean nothing to him. I mean nothing to him._

Yamaguchi took a big step back, putting a healthy amount of distance back between himself and Tsukki. No, not Tsukki; Tsukishima. _Prince_ Tsukishima.

_But I don’t want to mean nothing to him._

Tsukki clenched his jaw as Yamaguchi stepped back. To anyone else, it would have seemed like a sign of frustration or anger, but it wasn’t. It just hurt to see the baker recede back into his shell; Tsukki could physically feel the distrust and disappointment and betrayal seeping from the other man, and it was like they were back at square one, when Yamaguchi had despised him simply because he was a royal.

It was as if the past four months had never happened; no secret smiles, no bright eyes, no soothing chatter that Tsukki looked forward to more than he would ever admit. The prince was only thankful that he hadn’t _scared_ the other man, because if Yamaguchi had shown even a hint of fear, his guilt would have shattered through his facade completely. But he couldn’t break now.

Yamaguchi looked to the side, hugging his arms to his torso protectively. _Why the hell do I feel so hurt?_ There was an ache in his chest that he desperately wished would go away. “And how do I know that this isn’t some… some ploy to take us down from the inside? How do I know you aren’t here on your parents’ orders?” His question was met with dead silence. His eyebrows flashed upwards in resignation and he looked down, like he had expected nothing more, and the urge to prove him wrong pressed against Tsukki’s sternum, reaching curling tendrils up into his chest and twining around his heart in a vice.

Before he knew it, the prince had chucked his leather folio on the countertop and his fingers had twisted into the bottom of his tunic, untucking it, dragging the hem up and over his head until it was stretched taut around his forearms and his torso was bare. He pretended (note: _pretended_ ) that the soft pink flush spreading across Yamaguchi’s freckled cheekbones didn’t make his heart go absolutely bonkers inside his chest, turning around and showing the other man his back. More specifically, showing him the _scars_ across his back. They were hideous, and that wasn’t an exaggeration; even with the best healers and medicines in the city at their disposal, the king and queen had forced a young, bleeding, crying Tsukki to dress and treat his own wounds every time they lashed him, saying that it was part of both his punishment and training; punishment for being too weak, and training to make him strong. And so with all the medical knowledge he had (second to none; he was just a child for fuck’s sake), Tsukki had tried to stop the bleeding, bearing the stinging pain while pressing essence of dittany into his wounds to the best of his ability and wrapping himself tightly with bandages so many times that he grew used to the pain. 

He didn’t know why he’d instinctively done it; he’d never shown anybody his scars willingly before. He didn’t even know what he was trying to prove. He just knew that if Yamaguchi hated him again, he really wouldn’t know what to do. 

Behind him, Yamaguchi’s blush was steadily growing darker as his eyes travelled over Tsukki’s lean form. _Oh my god, he has an eight-pack. I thought that physically wasn’t possible— how often does this guy work out?!_ The baker was unspeakably glad that Tsukki had his back to him, because he was enjoying the view more than he was sure was appropriate, scars and all. However, Tsukki must have misread his silence, because the back of his neck burned bright red and he muttered, nearly indiscernible, “That bad, huh?” Yamaguchi opened his mouth to disagree, before he remembered the way that he had been manipulated, if only briefly, and decided that he’d earned the right to be at least a tiny bit petty. The baker was a little disappointed when the other man tugged his shirt back on, the powerful muscles in his back shifting and bunching under scarred skin.

Tsukki turned around slowly and ran his hands through his mussed hair. “I can’t prove to you that I’m on your side. But those scars on my back are there because of my parents. I’ve never said anything about or objected to their way of ruling Salis, but that doesn’t mean I agree with it.” He walked back towards the counter, his footsteps hesitant. For once, Yamaguchi’s bitter-coffee eyes were unreadable, clouded with too many emotions to pick apart. “I… I’m sorry. For how I acted earlier; I didn’t mean to upset you. I just needed a guarantee that you’d hear me out, a little insurance, if you will. The past four months, they weren’t an act.”

Tsukki couldn’t believe he was doing this; the crown prince of Salis, admitting to growing fond of someone. “And you’re… You’re a special case, you know. I don’t just apologise to anyone,” he muttered, looking away and feeling the back of his neck heat up again. Yamaguchi felt the vice around his chest loosen some; it was replaced by a fuzzy warmth that made him feel tingly all over. Tsukki picked up the leather folio he had previously discarded on the table, its black cover glossy under the light from the bakery’s oil lamps, the leather smooth and supple under his fingertips as he traced them over the edges. “I know that you have no reason to, but… I’m asking you to trust me.” He offered the folio to Yamaguchi, who was still miserably quiet, and Tsukki’s heart cracked a little more with every silent second that passed.

The baker finally reached out, brows slowly creeping up his forehead as he flipped through the contents of the folio, his dark eyes serious. In his hands were sheet after sheet of parchment, covered in information; there was a blueprint of the royal castle, a schedule for guard rotations, and a couple of handwritten sheets which, after a closer look, seemed to be profiles of certain royals. _How much time did he spend researching this?_ Yamaguchi was acutely aware of the way Tsukki watched him, the way the prince was carefully gauging his reactions as he scanned the papers. 

“Those royals are people who I think would be willing to help. I’ve known them all since I was a child.” Tsukki had hidden his fingers behind his back to hide the fact that he was twisting them together. The very notion was ridiculous; Prince Tsukishima Kei being _nervous. Why am I nervous anyway? He’s just…_ A flash of pain lanced through his chest. _Gods, I hope he doesn’t hate me…_

Yamaguchi was silent for a long while, supremely unaware of Tsukki suffering right in front of him (or maybe he _was_ aware and just decided to be a teeny bit petty), before he looked up, to sight of Tsukki glancing around the bakery in a show of trying to seem unbothered. _He’s nervous._ Yamaguchi sighed wearily. _Why do I want it to be because of me?_ His head and his heart were at war; he knew that he shouldn’t have caught feelings for the prince in the first place. They were of completely different castes, and it was absurd to think that anything could ever happen between them. 

_But why else would he be nervous?_ As painful as it was, Yamaguchi squashed the small sprout of hope that had bloomed in his chest. It was better to hurt now than to get hurt later when they inevitably had to go their separate ways. _Nothing lasts forever, after all._ And so he looked up and stared unflinchingly into those pale gold eyes. “Come with me.”

Yamaguchi walked out from behind the counter, fingers wrapping around the doorknob of the door to the back room. He looked back over his shoulder, where Tsukki was waiting. “You can’t tell anybody about this, do you understand?”

The prince scoffed. “I’m not dumb, Yamaguchi. I kno—”

“ _Do you understand?_ ” Yamaguchi spun around to face him properly, his eyes bright with something foreign. In that moment, the baker looked way older than his nineteen years. There was a weariness to his face, and he looked tired. So very tired. Tired of fighting, tired of his heart and his brain pulling him in two different directions. He knew, he _knew_ that following his heart would only get him hurt. He didn’t even know why he wanted Tsukki’s affection so much. The prince had softened considerably towards him since they had first met, but he was still cold and uninteractive. _He barely replies when I try to get him to open up. It’s never gonna work. Why am I still trying?_ Well, because Yamaguchi was drawn to him in a way he couldn’t explain. 

The prince still hadn’t answered him. _He will only play you. Don’t break your own heart. You really think he’d give up the throne, his birthright, just for a commoner like you? Throw away all of the riches and power and wives he could have?_ A small speck of hope appeared then. _But he’s joining the rebellion; he’d lose it all whether we succeed or not._ The baker’s eyes slowly widened in realisation, dread stealing through his body in a cold, dark wave.

Tsukki stared right back at him, seemingly sensing that Yamaguchi had something he wanted to say. _It doesn’t make sense for him to join the rebellion when he has nothing to gain and everything to lose. It’s a ploy. ...But then why would he give me this intel?_ His fingers gripped the black folio tightly, short, neat nails nearly biting into the leather as he swallowed hard, his jaw setting in a hard, solid line. “Why do you want to join the rebellion?” It hurt to consider the possibility that the royals had somehow found out about their plans, that they had sent Tsukki to infiltrate the enemy operation, that the past four months had just been an act to get into the rebellion, but that possibility was very, very, _painfully_ possible. For all Yamaguchi knew, the prince could still have been playing him right then. 

Tsukki opened his mouth to speak before he realised that he actually didn’t know. He’d decided the previous Monday night and spent a week researching and looking for information that might be able to help them. He’d just wanted to help Yamaguchi achieve his goal, to make him happy. But he couldn’t say that, could he? _There is no way he’d ever love someone like me._ “Because what my parents are doing is wrong. Selling people, all the laws and taxes just to put even more money in the treasury, it’s not right. Letting the royal guards treat people the way they do isn’t right. And I’ve had enough.”

“...I thought you hated commoners too, once.” Yamaguchi didn’t know why, but his gut told him that the prince wasn’t lying. Stupid, really. Deciding to put the fate of everyone in the rebellion into the hands of a hunch. So stupid. 

“That was before I met you.” The words were whispered like a secret, but they didn’t need to be loud for Yamaguchi to hear them; not when everything else was so quiet. It was as close to a confession as Tsukki could get; especially when he still wasn’t completely sure what he was confessing to. _Do I love him? Do I like him? What even is love anyway?_ “I won’t tell anyone about this. You have my word.” 

“And how much would your word be worth, prince, if we all end up with our heads on the chopping block?” There it was; the burning defiance, that determination that seemed to make Yamaguchi’s eyes glow. That quiet fury that Tsukki knew, if unleashed, would raze everything in its path. He’d missed it.

“It wouldn’t be worth anything. Because I’d be right there beside you, whether by choice or not.” 

_He’s serious. He’d… He’d die for this?_ Yamaguchi glared at him halfheartedly for a while longer before he twisted his wrist and pulled the door open. “If this is a ploy…”

“No need for death threats, sweetheart,” Tsukki chuckled mirthlessly, before his eyes widened as he realised the pet name that he had let slip. It had been meant to sound sarcastic, but it’d definitely come out fonder than intended, and Yamaguchi ground his teeth together in an effort to remind himself not to take it to heart; if he did, he’d fall even further than he already had. He walked into the back room, where three people were seated around a table covered in scraps of parchment and stationery. All of them looked up when Yamaguchi walked in, smiling, but they froze when Tsukki followed him in after. All of them shot to their feet in alarm, Yachi Hitoka squeaking and dropping the couch cushion she was hugging, before Yamaguchi sighed through his nose. “Sit down. He’s with us.”

Tanaka Ryuunosuke sneered, still on his feet. “He’s a _royal_ , Dashi. The prince himself. You really believe that he’s with us? Why would he be?” 

Yamaguchi sighed again. “Just— It’s a gut feeling, okay? He’s with us.” He raised his eyebrows at Tanaka. “So sit down, and let’s just listen to what he has to offer. Besides… If we find out that he really is spying on us, you could just disembowel him.”

“Thank y— wait, what?” Tsukki was actually scared. He had no problem believing that Yamaguchi would do anything necessary to reach his goal. He looked from Tanaka to the baker, only to relax and roll his eyes to the heavens when he saw the small smirk on Yamaguchi’s lips. _Hold on— What is his goal, anyway?_ “So what‘s the plan so far?” he asked, still a little sullen as everyone in the room chuckled, Tanaka sounding like he was enjoying the prince’s discomfort a little too much.

Yamaguchi looked at the other man in the room, who was rather short (at least to Tsukki) and with dark spiky hair which had a small blond streak in the front that flopped forward. “Noya?” 

Nishinoya Yuu cleared his throat, already back to lounging in his wooden armchair. “Well, the first phase is to get as many commoners we can on our side. One that’s over, we’ll hatch a plan to storm the castle, force the current king and queen to surrender the throne, and then hold an election for a new ruler.” 

Tsukki frowned, trying to remember what he had overheard that day. The oppressive rule under the royals of their monarchy had been hammered into all the citizens of Salis since they were young, in the form of violent threats and punishments if they didn’t comply with the law. “You said that there would still be people who are loyal to the king and queen, right, Tanaka?” He waited for the other man’s wary nod. “Then that’s where I’ll come in. We can make pamphlets, or something. I might be able to convince one of our royal pamphleteers… I’ll sneak out into the city at night and hand them out to the people. If even their crown prince is rebelling…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence. It was a good plan; even Tanaka had been paying attention. “And I’m… smart. Really smart. I could be your battle strategist, when we storm the palace. I don’t think there’s going to be a way to avoid an actual physical fight, not when we have no political influence to speak of. I—”

Tanaka scowled, throwing himself down onto the wooden stool he had previously been sitting on, rubbing a calloused hand over his buzzed hair. “Alright, _Your Highness,_ no need to go rubbing your supreme intelligence in the faces of us uncultured, uneducated peasants.” 

Yamaguchi looked around the room. Yachi simply looked neutral with her usual small smile, Noya looked excited, and even Tanaka looked somewhat grudgingly impressed. “Well, Tsukki… Welcome to the rebellion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsukki: *wears normal clothes for once*  
> Yams: *intense gay panic*


	4. There's A Revolution Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All my wolves begin to howl  
> Wake me up, the time is now  
> Oh, can you hear the drumming?  
> Oh, there's a revolution coming

Tsukki nonchalantly leaned his shoulder on the wooden trellis next to him, trying to mask the anxiety bubbling in the pit of his stomach; he felt like he was about to throw up into the rose bushes surrounding him, and the flowers’ heady fragrance wasn’t helping in the least. They started arriving one by one, all wary but also curious, their interests previously piqued by the letters that they had all found on their pillows the previous night, sealed in cream and emerald envelopes. Sugawara Koushi, the castle’s sage; Sawamura Daichi, the captain of the royal guard’s 1st Battalion; Kiyoko Shimizu, the queen’s handmaiden; Ennoshita Chikara, the royal governor; Hinata Shouyou and Kageyama Tobio, both royal guards; Kinoshita Hisashi, the castle’s cook; Narita Kazuhito, their resident medic; and Asahi Azumane, the priest who resided in the palace temple.

They had all received a handwritten (in Tsukki’s flawless cursive, of course) invitation to meet His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Tsukishima Kei of Salis in the south-west corner of the Rosethorne Maze at midnight. And here they were, surrounded by thorny hedges that were wound through with blood-red flowers; just as red, if not more, as the blood those thorns had drawn. Only members of the royal court knew their way in and out of the maze; it had been a requirement for them to memorise all its secrets, from the hidden doors in the hedges to entrances of underground tunnels, for the Rosethorne Maze also served as an escape route should there ever be any need to evacuate the castle.

Those who went in (or rather, were forced in) were doomed to never escape its thorny prison; the maze was impossible to navigate without help. The king and queen often threw state prisoners into the maze and listened to them lose their minds trying to get to freedom; their screams echoed for days before they slit their own throats or wrists with one of the plentiful thorns around them either from madness or by choice, or passed from exhaustion, or the lack of food and water. Whichever came first. 

They were all there, a prince and nine residents of the castle, all of them bathed in the soft, bright light of the waxing gibbous moon, well above their heads. Tsukki cleared his throat, pushing his body weight off the trellis and uncrossing his arms, fighting off a shiver as the sleeves of his loose cotton shirt fluttered in a phantom breeze. “Well, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve asked you here.” There was no reply; all of them were waiting for their prince to continue, some with trepidation, some with curiosity, and some with blatant excitement.

Alright, perhaps only one with blatant excitement; Hinata’s wild ginger hair fluffed out around his head as he bounced hyperactively on the balls of his feet, both he and Kageyama dressed in the black spandex leggings and ivory cotton tunic that all knights were required to wear underneath their battle armour of steel plates and chainmail. They both belonged to the 1st Battalion, the strongest regimen of Salis’s soldiers; as young and idiotic as they were, they fought well. _Tch. How much bloody energy does that orange fireball have, anyway? Geh. Focus._ Tsukki inhaled deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring slightly. He tipped his chin up, as if that would shield his pride from his next few words that would surely rip it to shreds. “I need your help.”

Everybody looked puzzled, and rightly so. The crown prince never asked for help; it just wasn’t a Tsukki thing to do. And besides, they were obliged to help him whether they wanted to or not, seeing as he was their prince and it was their duty. They stared blankly at the blond, still silent, afraid of saying anything that could possibly land them a night in the palace dungeons. Tsukki sighed heavily. _Well, there go the last vestiges of my dignity…_ “More specifically, I need information. I’m not going to lie; this is extremely dangerous, and I’m sure you know what’ll happen to you if you get caught; we’re all familiar with the punishment for treason, no?” Tsukki looked into each pair of narrowing eyes, still hearing no objections; none of the familiar faces before him showed any signs of outright rejection.

Tsukki had grown up with the men (and woman) standing before him; they were all sons and daughters of people who lived in the castle.

He’d studied in the libraries with Suga, spending hour after hour after hour hunched over books and parchment, fingers cramping around quills as he scratched words into sentences into paragraphs into essays, the dark letters blending and bleeding into squiggly lines and dots before his exhausted eyes.

He’d trained in the barracks with Daichi and Hinata and Kageyama, the four of them fighting with sticks, then wooden swords, then actual weapons as they grew.

He’d run through the royal flower gardens with Kiyoko as a child, picking fresh, verdant, sweet-smelling blooms to put in each other’s hair, until it was no longer considered appropriate for him to do so.

He, Ennoshita, Kinoshita and Narita had snuck into the kitchens way past their bedtimes, not-so-discreetly reaching out little hands for Kinoshita’s mother to slip them small treats like chocolate-glazed eclairs and cream-and jam-filled profiteroles.

He’d let Asahi drag him to the temple whenever he was feeling stressed or upset or simply wanted a blessing, letting the other boy’s father sprinkle blessed water over their foreheads and chant songs in their name with mantras woven in-between the notes. 

He knew the people standing in front of him; he knew each and every one of them.

He knew that Suga loved to light vanilla-scented (he was old-fashioned that way) candles whenever he was studying.

He knew that Daichi occasionally indulged himself with a bowl of hand-stretched wheat noodles steeped in rich pork bone broth.

He knew that Hinata was deathly terrified of spiders, ever since Kageyama had dropped one down the back of his shirt as a prank, and that Kageyama was scared shitless every time he saw a lizard, ever since Hinata had slipped one into his bag of training gear as revenge.

He knew that Kiyoko held a certain fondness for the blush-coloured pond lilies that floated among the red-and-white koi in their royal eco-garden.

He knew that Ennoshita was aromantic and asexual and didn’t plan on having children of his own, even though he took care of them all day.

He knew exactly how Kinoshita had gotten that scar on the back of his left hand; he’d accidentally stabbed himself with a butter knife while making scones ( _how the hell again?_ ).

He knew that Narita still blanched at the sight of hypodermic needles, despite being a doctor himself.

He knew that Asahi still wore the string of rosary beads that his father had gifted him before the old priest had passed away.

They had grown up together, all of them, and as they looked at each other in the moonlight, Tsukki sighed in relief.

He recognised that identical look on all of their faces; that weary look that screamed ‘here we go again’, that look that said that they knew Tsukki’s request would be ridiculous, but they were willing to go along with his bullshit just like they had since they were children. Tsukki knew that it wasn’t out of some sense of duty, or honour, or even patriarchy; the prince’s demands were always too unreasonable for those to be a good enough motivation.

Perhaps it was the threat of punishment hanging over their heads; even though they were close enough to be considered the prince’s friends (Tsukki wouldn’t know; his parents had banished friendship from his life a long time ago), it didn’t mean that the prince would give them special treatment of any kind, and they didn’t expect it either. Tsukki suspected that they had only complied in the past out of some twisted sense of pity; affection for a boy who no longer was, a boy who laughed and smiled and played like all the other normal children, a boy who loved to run through flower fields and have stick fights and licked the sticky honey off his fingers after stuffing himself with baklava. A boy that Tsukki was for the few blissful years before his parents decided that he’d had enough fun; before his parents decided to twist him into a heartless monster. 

They probably thought that this was going to be some ridiculous demand again. _Well, they’re not gonna see this coming, that’s for sure._ “The commoners are staging a rebellion, and we’re going to need more inside informants than just me.” Tsukki barely gave them any time to process before he powered on. “I’m not going to lie; this is extremely dangerous. I think you know what’ll happen to you if you get caught; we’re all familiar with the punishment for treason.” The prince’s lips pressed into a thin line as his eyes darted between the nine people standing before him, shock painted on all of their faces clear as day. He swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to the grassy ground momentarily before his amber eyes flicked back up, seeming to glow in the shadows. “I’m asking for your help not as your prince, but as your friend.” Even more shock. Daichi’s mouth was hanging open, Kiyoko’s steel-grey eyes were wide behind her wire-rimmed spectacles, and even Kageyama’s brows had smoothed out of their usual frown in favour of creeping up his forehead. “I know you’ve put up with more of my bullshit than you deserve, but this isn’t just for me. What my parents are doing… The way they’re ruling Salis, it isn’t _right_. I know that I’m asking a lot of you; I know that you may have to go against your families if they still support our monarchy. But will you help me?”

The stunned silence that met his words was tangible enough to cut with a knife. That is before Hinata, in his typical dumbass Hinata fashion, had to be stupid as always. “Who are you? And what did you do to Tsukishima-kun?” he squawked, patting himself down for a weapon before he realised he didn’t have one and raised his fists instead, waving them around in a way that was… supposed to be intimidating? Tsukki really didn’t know. “I’m warning you, I know— _gwah_ , Kageya—”

“ _Hinata boke!_ ” the taller knight hissed, yanking Hinata back with one hand tangled into his nearly-neon orange hair. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“No, but he’s obviously an impostor! Tsukish—”

“People can change, you know. Would you rather have me throw you into the dungeons just to prove my identity?” Hinata fell silent at the signature death glare that Tsukki sent his way, his good-effort-but-still-not-fierce-enough scowl making way for an idiotic grin, and the prince angrily jammed his middle finger into the bridge of his glasses before glaring fixedly at a rose that seemed to wilt under the weight of his gaze. “Well?” he snapped, his eyes flashing between the others who had been smirking bemusedly at their three juniors. 

Daichi let out a long-suffering sigh, crossing his muscled arms and cocking his head to the side, something almost akin to fondness in his dark gaze. “It’s like you said, isn’t it? We’re all used to dealing with your bullshit by now. What’s new?”

*

Tsukki walked briskly across the path, his shoes silent for once; they needed to be as quiet as possible, even when the chances of somebody spotting them were close to zero. It would be pretty damn difficult to spot ten people walking in black cloaks under the cover of darkness, their silhouettes nothing more than shadow upon shadow, but Tsukki wasn’t taking any chances. He tugged his hood lower over his forehead, still paranoid that his blond hair was peeking out as they quickly arrived at their destination and gathered around the door, its stained glass panels glittering even in the darkness. The prince knocked on the door ten times in a three-three-four pattern, and it wasn’t long before someone pulled it open from the inside, ushering them into the bakery. 

Everybody scrambled inside, and Tsukki finally yanked down his hood and shucked his cloak off unceremoniously, grateful for the loss of its rippling weight as a grinning Noya closed the door behind them with a quiet click. “Took you long enough.” 

The prince snorted as the rest struggled out of their heavy black wool cloaks, swinging them off their shoulders and hanging them in half over their forearms. “You try convincing this bunch to come on board, and then get them into the cloaks and tell them about the travel arrangements.” He could see (and feel, frankly) his friends gawking at him from the corner of his eye; Tsukishima Kei, casually bantering with someone? A commoner, no less? Unheard of. “Considering that we met at 12 and it’s only 2, I’d say I did a pretty decent job.” 

“Well, none of them are half-dead so I’m guessing that they all agreed willingly?” Noya smirked teasingly, the shorter man’s eyes scanning across the nine new people in the room. 

“Shut it, shortie.”

“ _Ouch!_ Now that’s just outright mean, man…” Noya trailed off; he seemed to have caught sight of something that made him pause before he shook off his daze and walked over to the back room’s door before yanking it open, sticking his head inside. “They’re here!”

Tsukki looked over his shoulder. “Well, come on, then.” He strode into the back room after Noya and somehow, he still wasn’t prepared for the way his heart sped up in his ribcage until all he could hear was the sound of the blood rocketing through his veins. Yamaguchi was _right there_ in his simple peasant’s garb, roughly-dyed hemp trousers and an off white linen tunic, but he carried himself like a king; shoulders pushed back, spine straight, head only slightly bowed from where he was looking down to survey a blueprint spread out on the table before him, like a ruler surveying his kingdom. He looked up, and Tsukki could have sworn that his heart slammed to a screeching halt when their eyes met, coffee-brown irises glowing star-bright and looking straight into moonlit pools of cool amber, and it kickstarted again when Yamaguchi’s tight-lipped, serious expression softened as he smiled _that_ smile.

The background noise drained away; both of them were enveloped in their own little bubble, and someone must have sucked all the oxygen out of the air because Tsukki was suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. He didn’t resist when he felt his lips slowly curling up into a small smile; the prince vaguely registered how dumb they must have looked, staring and smiling at each other.

_No, not dumb… Lovestruck._ Tsukki’s eyes widened as Noya and Hinata’s voices (decidedly not appropriate to use at such an ungodly hour) shattered the moment, and he looked away, desperately trying to find something to get his mind off the incredibly unplatonic thought of kissing that smile. Thankfully, he found something relatively quickly; Noya had wrestled Hinata into a headlock and was giving him a noogie that left the young knight squirming, his laughs borderline shrieks that stabbed at Tsukki’s eardrums like needles. “OI!” he roared, before he realised that he was supposed to be scolding them for being too loud in the first place and dropped his volume. “Do you want to get us all caught?” He was met with an abashed silence as Noya let Hinata go and the duo smoothed down their clothes and hair, at least having the decency to look embarrassed. “Jesus, Noya-san, how old are you? Five?”

The man snorted. “For your information, I’m twenty. So is Ryuu, didn’t you know? Tadashi-kun and Yacchan are nineteen, same as you.” 

“Wait… You’re telling me that you’re older than me.”

“Yep.”

“You are a _child._ ” He interrupted Noya before the other man could argue back. “Now before I actually murder somebody, let’s get the introductions over and done with and then go over the plan,” he sighed tiredly (who could blame him, it _was_ 2 a.m.), looking expectantly at the remaining eight people who were awkwardly crowded near the entrance of the room. 

Of course, Hinata was the first to speak. “Salis’s 1st Battalion Royal Guard Hinata Shouyou, nineteen, Pleased to meet you!” he whisper-shouted, flinging his upper body into a bow in the room’s general direction. 

Kageyama was next. “Salis’s 1st Battalion Royal Guard Kageyama Tobio, nineteen. Pleased to meet you,” he muttered, bowing slightly slower than Hinata but deeply all the same. 

“Heyo! I’m Sugawara Koushi, I’m the castle’s sage and I’m twenty-one.”

“I’m Asahi Azumane. I’m twenty-one and a priest…”

“Master chef Kinoshita Hisashi, twenty years old, at your service!”

At that, Ennoshita smirked. “Yeah, a master chef who stabbed himself with a butter knife…”

“ _Hey!_ You said that you wouldn’t tell—”

“I’m Ennoshita Chikara, twenty, the royal governor.”

“Kiyoko Shimizu, twenty-one, the queen’s handmaiden.”

“Narita Kazuhito, twenty, resident medic.”

“Sawamura Daichi, twenty-one, captain of the 1st Battalion and those two idiots,” Daichi grinned, whacking Hinata and Kageyama behind their heads to a short squawk of protest and a half-hearted glare respectively.

Tsukki pushed his glasses up his nose with a violent jab of his middle finger. “Well, now that’s finally over,” he walked over to Yamaguchi and looked down at the blueprint of the castle spread over the rickety wooden table, “get over here. We have work to do.” 

As everybody crowded in, Tanaka had somehow sidled up right next to Kiyoko. “I may have to ask that medic of yours for a favour, because I think I just bruised my heart falling for you.” 

Kiyoko just stared at him, her expression as flat as ever. “Just wait it out. It’ll heal.” 

“ _Critical hit!_ Noya, buddy, c’mon, back me up— Noya?” The shorter man hadn’t seemed to be paying attention to their conversation at all; he was too busy looking over his shoulder, where only one person was stepping towards the table hesitantly. _Ah, the priest guy… What was it again? ... Asahi?_ Tanaka looked back to Noya, who was still waiting for the priest. _Hmm…_

After a month in the rebellion, Tsukki had become an essential part of the operation; he’d been sneaking out of the castle almost every night (Yamaguchi constantly wondered what his secret to not getting eye bags and dark circles was; the baker tacked it down to good skincare), gathering and providing important information like when the palace guards swapped shifts, which parts of the castle were the most heavily guarded, where all possible escape routes were and more.

He’d also been getting closer to Yamaguchi; close enough, in fact, that his chest hurt every time he pulled away while reminding himself that they could never be. His family had destroyed Yamaguchi’s; just because they were on the same side and working towards the same goal didn’t automatically mean that they were friends. Just because they were allies didn’t mean that they were… They were… Tsukki still didn’t know. He had no idea what their relationship was at the moment; they were stuck in some strange, frustrating tango of drawing closer and closer and _closer_ to each other, both emotionally and physically, the distance between them gradually shrinking without their notice until Tsukki inevitably decided to pull away and Yamaguchi followed suit. But it hurt, to pull away. And it made the prince want to throw up whenever he let himself think about the baker getting hurt or captured or killed, his stomach twisting itself into knots.

He didn’t know what love felt like, not really, but if he were to take a wild guess, this would be it. That feeling that time froze for a few seconds whenever their eyes met; that feeling of warmth that blossomed behind his sternum when he saw Yamaguchi smiling, laughing, _happy_. And that warmth only increased in intensity if _he_ was the one who had made Yamaguchi happy. He thought (he _prayed_ , more like) that Yamaguchi actually liked him back and he hadn’t read the signals wrong; all the books he’d read about romance had stated that if someone likes you, they’d constantly find excuses to be around you, and they’d talk to you so much it would border on being annoying. But Yamaguchi had always been chatty, and he could have just been sticking close because he still didn’t trust Tsukki. _But he looks so… comfortable around me. He wouldn’t be comfortable if he didn’t trust me, right? Or is it all an act? Or is he actually not comfortable at all and this just wishful thinking?!_

The prince faded back into reality when he felt Yachi gently nudge his shoulder and found, when he’d looked up, everybody gathered around the rectangular table and staring at him; they had all been waiting for him to speak. He took a deep breath as he mentally ran through what he was going to say, letting his lungs expand and then contract as he breathed out. “Alright. A month ago, we started the first stage of our plan; to gather all the people we could to our cause. Me convincing you guys,” he waved a vague finger at the nine people he’d brought, “was the last step. Now the plan is to storm the castle, unseat the current king and queen, and then hold an election for new rulers. Anything to add?” 

Narita rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he spoke. “What about us? You recruited us so we could help, right? How exactly…?”

Surprisingly, Kageyama spoke up. “We recruit whoever we know that would support the cause.”

“Well, we’re gonna need a lot more than just manpower…” Daichi muttered, shifting aside a few loose sheaves of paper on the table to get a better look at the castle’s blueprints. “Even if we outnumbered the guards, most of the commoners in Salis are completely untrained. It’d be a slaughter.” He frowned thoughtfully, the room’s full attention on him, everyone waiting for the captain’s next words. “Hinata, Kageyama, I’ll need you to tell the 1st Battalion about this. _Discreetly_. We’ll get them to train whoever they can; and tell whichever other guards you can trust, too. When the guards swap shifts, we can get the commoners to cause havoc in the city to draw away the guards who are still loyal to the current king and queen, and then while they’re busy… We’ll storm the castle.”

Tsukki let a small grin stretch his lips. Daichi had always been interested in the art of war, and he had grown to be the best battle strategist that the prince had ever seen; it’d been no surprise when the man was promoted to captain of Salis’s best battalion at the mere age of eighteen. “When we get inside, it’s protocol to evacuate the king and queen. We’ll need to blockade all the minor escape routes and secret passageways, here, here, here, here and here,” he pointed them out on the blueprint, “so that—”

“So that they’ll have to escape via the Rosethorne Maze,” Asahi interrupted, his dark brown eyes shining with awe as he slid an illustration of the sprawling castle grounds to the middle of the table, tapping his pointer finger twice on the green square-shaped maze. “We’ll stop them there and force them to surrender.” 

Yamaguchi, who had been silent the whole time, looked around at everybody in the room; three commoners, a sage, a captain, two guards, a handmaiden, a cook, a governor, a doctor, a priest, and a rebel prince. “Well… It seems like we have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may or may not be a very smutty smut chapter coming up next, but you didn’t hear it from me—


	5. I Don’t Want to Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW I KNOW THAT THIS IS SUPER LATE I’M SORRY I HAD REALLY BAD WRITER’S BLOCK OHCKYDYFUGKNKB— but anyway, HUGE thanks to faithireland for hyping me up on this story and brainstorming completely whack ideas with me at ungodly hours of the morning :> love you boo ❤️

Tsukki awkwardly leaned against the doorframe of the back room as Yamaguchi bustled about, collecting and reorganising the papers that were spread all over the table, humming a tuneless song softly under his breath. The main figures of the rebellion (Tsukki, Yamaguchi, Yachi, Tanaka, Noya, Daichi, Suga, Hinata, Kageyama, Asahi, Ennoshita, Kinoshita, Narita and Kiyoko) had just convened for a final meeting; they were going to attack the next day, because the day after, the royal guards would start sweeping the kingdom for “unnecessary” citizens; beggars, the homeless, people who weren’t, well, necessary to Salis. They would be sold a month later on Trading Day, the day where all the merchants from different kingdoms gathered at a predetermined meeting point and traded goods. 

All the different kingdoms were responsible for different items; The kingdom of Aelurus was responsible for textiles, the kingdom of Cicuma was responsible for rare spices and foodstuff, the kingdom of Aquila was responsible for precious metals and stones, the kingdom of Arbor was responsible for household items like furniture and decorations, and the kingdom of Salis was responsible for labourers.

Those who were captured and sold were said to be destined for a fate worse than death; rumours whispered in the shadows had it that they would spend the rest of their lives toiling, forced into slavery and prostitution, and it was a unanimous decision that the commoners would strike before they let anyone get taken.

They had decided to gather at their base at 4 in the morning the next day and storm the castle at 6; Yachi had managed to find an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the kingdom, right next to the sea, and they’d been using it as their headquarters ever since, four members (Tsukki and the other elites were still undercover in the palace) of the assumed head council sleeping in the bedrooms on the second floor of the sprawling complex. Nobody had appointed them as leaders; the authority had just naturally gravitated towards them, and the general populace seemed content to follow their directions, so Narita had suggested they just go with the flow and that had been that.

Everybody had gone home except Tsukki and Yamaguchi, and the prince waited, tapping his left fingers distractedly against the outside of his upper arm as he crossed them over his chest. He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened just that morning; what he had done, what he had toldhad been eating away at his conscience the entire day. Everybody had done their parts; the commoners were all on their side, as well as some of the royal guards and members of the royal court. It would have been fine, if Tsukki hadn’t sold them out. But he couldn’t lose the one person he loved. 

*

_Tsukki’s fingers were stiff as they gripped his silver fork and knife; the atmosphere at the dining table was tense, tenser than it was when they usually had breakfast, and that was saying a whole lot. A soft breeze fluttered through the partially open floor-to-ceiling windows on his right, ruffling the sheer, gauzy curtains. The prince frowned down at his plate, sawing away at his bruschetta with the edge of his knife; the bread’s hard crust was proving especially difficult to cut._ Damn royal etiquette. Life would be so much easier if I could just use my hands to eat… 

_“Kei.” Tsukki put down his cutlery impatiently as his father called his name, eyes staying resolutely on the slice of olive-oil drizzled baguette on his porcelain plate, topped with basil and diced tomatoes. “We need to talk.”_

_The blond’s lips itched to say, “Do we?”, but he kept his mouth shut; he would really rather not face his parents’ wrath so early in the morning. “About?” he muttered instead, his eyebrows flashing up briefly as he picked his fork and knife back up, continuing to work on his bruschetta and still refusing to look up._

_“Do you really think that we haven’t noticed you sneaking out at night? All the research you’ve been doing?” Tsukki could have sworn that in that moment his heart stopped completely, silencing his entire body as he froze, his eyes widening a minuscule amount._

Act natural. Act natural. Act natural, act natural, goddammit, act natural— _Tsukki continued sawing at his breakfast as his father spoke._

_“You think we haven’t heard the rumours of a rebellion?” The king didn’t raise his voice, but it was enough to make all the tiny hairs on Tsukki’s arms stand up. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, Kei.” His father’s voice held a dangerous edge, and Tsukki stilled. The man sounded like he did whenever he talked to enemies of the state; serene, calm, but Tsukki knew that that man sitting at the head of the table would have no qualms about slaughtering someone with the butter knife he currently held in his hand, even if that someone was his own son. The prince looked up into cold amber eyes, hardened by years of bloodshed and experience. Satisfied, the king sat back in his plush armchair and tipped his chin back; his fur-lined silk cape, draped over his usual uniform of a white suit and pants, gleamed the bright scarlet of fresh blood against snow. “Good.”_

_This time, Tsukki’s mother spoke as the prince sat frozen in his chair, her voice taunting as she twirled a loose strand of pale blonde hair around her finger. “Well, let’s just say that we have the location of a certain baker that you seem to be pretty fond of… You really thought we didn’t know why you kept going to pick up our baked goods?” She reached over and tilted Tsukki’s chin until he broke eye contact with his father, looking into her emerald green eyes instead; they were as cold and harsh as the gems they looked like as her fingers dug into his face, sharp manicured nails nearly piercing skin. “A mother’s instinct never fails, Kei.”_

Don’t you dare pretend to be anything like a mother to me. Not after what you did. Not after what you’re still doing to the people of this kingdom.

_“That quaint little bakery doesn’t provide too many hiding spots, does it? It would be such a pity if the royal guards were to go looking for him… What was his name again? Yamaguchi Tadashi, was it?”_

_The king smirked, his light brown hair catching the light of the crystal chandelier hanging high above their heads, slowly fading to grey around his temples. “You’d better start talking, son.”_

_Tsukki couldn’t move. He could hear every panicked beat of his heart, he could feel his fingers twitch, but he just couldn’t_ move— _He couldn’t breathe and he didn’t know what to do because_ they know, they know and they’re gonna hurt Tadashi, I can’t let them hurt Tadashi— No. Focus. They don’t know everything yet. You can get out of this. You can save him. Think… Think!

_Somehow, the prince wrangled his lips into a sly smile (or at least what he hoped was one) and scoffed, “That worthless commoner? Kill him, for all I care. He means nothing to me.” The words_ burned _. They burned like he’d downed six shots of mulberry gin at one go, but he kept that fake smile pasted on his face. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but… Well, I was going to tell you today anyway. Those street rats are going to attempt to storm the castle tomorrow night. Not that they’ll succeed…” He felt sick to his stomach when his parents smiled at each other, the only word to describe their grins being_ evil. 

_His mother turned her smile to him, the curve of her lips turning into a sickly sweet thing, as fake and artificial as the powders and paints and glazes her attendants piled on her face every morning. “We’re proud of you, Kei. You’re more like us than you realise.”_

_A long time ago, those fake words would have made Tsukki immeasurably happy, no matter how much of a lie they were; now, they just made his skin crawl. He stayed seated as his parents rose from the long rectangular dining table, the wooden legs of their chairs screeching across the marble floor. He stayed seated as his mother brushed his hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead, her lips cold as ice. He stayed seated as his father started calling for the guards, gathering them before he would surely tell them of what would happen the next day. He only moved when he was enveloped in complete silence, save for the loud buzzing in his ears._

_Stumbling around in a daze was not fun, Tsukki decided, as he accidentally rammed his shoulder into the edge of a wall on the way back to his room because he was lost in his thoughts, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He flopped down on his bed and thought for a good long while, rubbing his tender, bruising shoulder and taking comfort in the ache; pain, at least, was something constant in his life. And that night, he snuck out of the castle with everything he couldn’t bear to leave behind, knowing that that might have been the last time he could call it home; he didn’t look back. It had never been much of a home anyway._

_*_

“Tsukki? You okay?” Tsukki was snapped out of his daze as Yamaguchi playfully flicked a finger against his forehead, chuckling softly as the prince startled.

 _No, I’m not okay. This might be the last night we’re alive. So many things could go wrong tomorrow. We could be killed in the fray, or caught and then executed, and it would be all my fault. And… I want to live. I want to live because I want to spend my life with you._ “You do know,” he said instead when Yamaguchi had pulled his hand away, “that that could have gotten you executed, for assaulting the crown prince?”

The baker’s cheeky grin stole Tsukki’s breath away; he literally could not breathe when he saw the happy fondness that lit up Yamaguchi’s eyes. “Mmm… I’ll take that chance.” 

It pained him to know that that happiness would soon be gone and replaced by hate, probably.

“Aren’t you worried? About tomorrow?” Tsukki’s brows furrowed together and he pushed his glasses higher up his nose.

“No, not really. I suppose there isn’t exactly a point, is there? We’ve already done everything we possibly could; worrying won’t do anything now.” The other man turned around and jumped onto the table, using his hands to support himself as he wiggled until he was comfortable, sighing contentedly as he settled. “Sure, there will be casualties, but we still have the element of surprise.” 

_Tell him. Tell him tell him tell him tell him tell him_ —

“Tsukki?” 

Why couldn’t he say anything? The words were lodged like toffee in his throat, sticky and gooey and all too unwilling to unlodge. Pushing off the doorframe, Tsukki walked over and hovered his hands over Yamaguchi’s shoulders, blinking and hesitating before he slowly wrapped his hands around the baker’s upper arms. He felt a spark of pride in his chest when developed muscles that he was fairly certain weren’t there before shifted under his palms; Daichi and the guards of the 1st Battalion had been training all the members of the rebellion to fight ever since they officially joined two months ago, and Yamaguchi had worked hard just like everybody else, if not harder.

The prince stood there for a few seconds, breathing deeply as he tried to find his words. “Ya—” _Would it be inappropriate if I called him Tadashi?_ “Tadashi, I… If you get caught tomorrow, even if I vouch for you, they _will_ kill you.” He gulped hard; there would only be one way they’d execute anyone they captured, and that was after torturing them for information. His hands tightened on Yamaguchi’s arms involuntarily, and he willed himself to relax before he hurt the baker by accident. “They’d kill me too if I got caught, you know that. My word wouldn’t mean a rat’s ass; a criminal is a criminal to them, royalty or not. They won’t care that I’m the crown prince. So just… don’t get caught, okay?”

Yamaguchi looked up at Tsukki; standing, they were about the same height, but seeing as the tabletop was beneath waist level for the both of them, Yamaguchi was slightly shorter than the prince now that he was sitting on it, and Tsukki’s brain was going absolutely haywire because _is it just me or did he lean closer?_

“Any particular reason why you’re so worried about me? What about everybody else?”

 _Because I love you, you perfect little smiley freckly idiot._ Tsukki gulped, sliding his palms down the toned lengths of Yamaguchi’s arms and taking his hands. They were calloused in some places from his recent training, hours upon hours of swinging and slashing and stabbing with the weapons that the 1st Battalion had provided; but the backs were still soft, the skin tanned and sprinkled with tiny freckles and scars from baking accidents that Tsukki should not have found that adorable.

“I do care about them. Just not the same way I care about you.” And it wasn’t just him; Yamaguchi was leaning closer and closer and _closer_ and his beautiful coffee eyes were sliding shut, and that little sliver of space between their lips was small enough that they were sharing breath and it was driving Tsukki absolutely _insane_ and he didn’t know whether he wanted to widen it or get rid of it because he was a _prince_ and he should be _proper_ and definitely not doing something like kissing a commoner in a bakery. Besides, he couldn’t; not when he had sold the entire rebellion out to his parents, even if it was to protect Yamaguchi. 

Tsukki knew that he had hesitated for too long when Yamaguchi’s eyes fluttered open, his long, dark lashes fanning out as he started pulling away with that disappointed, dejected, slightly mortified expression painted all over his face. And Tsukki realised, then, that he didn’t _want_ to be Prince Tsukishima Kei of Salis; he just wanted to be Tsukki, the boy who was hopelessly, helplessly, _totally_ in love with a certain Yamaguchi Tadashi. No titles, no facades, just the two of them. Besides; the harsh reality was that no matter the outcome of the rebellion, he wouldn’t be a prince anymore at this time the next day. 

_But I can’t, not with what happened this morning. He’d hate me._ Yamaguchi had pulled away by now, the baker looking awkwardly to the side, his hands still within Tsukki’s. _Will he understand why I did it? Or will he hate me anyway?_ His hands tightened on Yamaguchi’s as the baker gave them a gentle tug, trying to pull away. Tsukki had leaned down without noticing, and their faces were still mere centimetres apart, and the room was hot, way too hot. _He’s going to hate me anyway, isn’t he? Fuck it._ It completely went against Tsukki’s better judgement to drop Yamaguchi’s hands and spread his own along the other man’s waist, but he just wanted one more night. _That’s all I ask._ And knowing that this would be their first and last night together… _Let me be selfish, goddammit, just once. Just this once._

The prince leaned in even more, ducking his head to the side to catch Yamaguchi’s lips with his own. Tsukki kissed him like Yamaguchi was something as necessary as air, like if he didn’t get enough of him he would _die,_ and Yamaguchi’s strong, lithe fingers were twining into his curls and gripping them so tight that it hurt _really damn good_. Neither of them were even trying to keep up a pretence of going slow; the kiss was messy and wild, tongues searching, teeth flashing and nipping, and it was all too much and entirely too little at the same time.

“Upstairs,” Yamaguchi gasped breathlessly between kisses. “Bedroom—” Tsukki gave himself a mental pat on the back when he managed to wrangle Yamaguchi into his arms with one beneath his knees and one behind his back, all while his tongue slipped between the other boy’s lips, licking over the roof of his mouth as their tongues slid together. A soft whimper from the baker sent blood rushing fast and hot through his veins and Tsukki swallowed the sound down, stumbling towards the staircase at the corner of the back room that led to the second floor and somehow managing to get them both into Yamaguchi’s bedroom without either of them hitting the floor.

He was barely aware of his surroundings, and he suspected that Yamaguchi didn’t really care much either; their world was a blur of sloppy kisses and strong hands as Tsukki tipped Yamaguchi back onto the bed, soft, dim light from the oil lamps lining the walls bathing them as Yamaguchi strained upwards to meet Tsukki’s mouth. 

The baker slid lithe hands under Tsukki’s loose cotton shirt, curling them around the solid line of his waist and pulling him closer until they were pressed flush together, the prince nestled between Yamaguchi’s spread legs. Tsukki lifted his arms as he felt his shirt being tugged upwards, and no sooner was it over his head and cast aside that he felt Yamaguchi still as he trailed his fingertips over the raised, gnarled scars on the prince’s back.

Tsukki froze, too, suddenly terribly self-conscious about what the other man would think even though he’d seen them before; Yamaguchi made him feel good enough about himself to forget about his scars, if only momentarily, but that was still no easy feat. _Will he still want me, after seeing how ugly I truly am? After he sees how many flaws I have, inside and out?_ He was caught too off-guard to resist when Yamaguchi flipped them over, thighs spread over his hips and leaning down so that the both of them were pressed chest to bare chest. 

“Kei, turn around,” he whispered softly into Tsukki’s ear before he pulled back, his dark eyes shining with something more than just lamplight. The baker’s hair was slipping out of the small ponytail it was usually tucked into, and the olive strands were swinging freely as he looked down at Tsukki beneath him, framing his face.

Tsukki looked up at Yamaguchi with something almost akin to helplessness in his golden eyes, now dark and glossy like honey; he _was_ helpless. He couldn’t help loving Yamaguchi; it was as inevitable as the way even the brightest star in the galaxy would eventually burn itself out, ineludible and inexorable. He also couldn’t help thinking about the way Yamaguchi would hate him after the baker found out what he had done. And he knew, he _knew_ that this would be their first and last time because there would be no way that Yamaguchi wouldn’t hate him, but he’d much rather let Yamaguchi hate him than let Yamaguchi be dead. One night. He just wanted one night with the boy he loved before he lost everything. Was that really too much to ask?

“Turn around,” the baker whispered again, and something in his voice made Tsukki wiggle over onto his stomach, his fingers gripping the undyed cotton sheets next to his head. He wasn’t completely still, not really, not until he felt the somewhat hesitant press of warm lips against his shoulder, right where his first scar began. He melted as they trailed down the raised length of it, his body relaxing into the straw-stuffed mattress. Yamaguchi kissed every single inch of the scars on his back, slow and sweet, from his shoulders all the way down to the base of his spine; every gentle brush and press of his lips said _I don’t care. They don’t matter, not to me; they never did. I love you anyway. You’re beautiful._

And it made Tsukki’s heart hurt, because he knew that this would be the last time Yamaguchi would be able to look at him without hatred. So when he turned back around after Yamaguchi was done, the kiss that he pressed to his lips said _thank you. For everything._

Tsukki slipped his thumb under the hem of Yamaguchi’s shirt, feeling its coarse weave rub against his fingers as he pushed it up and over Yamaguchi’s stomach, his other hand threading into the baker’s hair and carding gently through the strands, smoothing them out from root to tip as their lips melded together; he carefully pulled loose the thin leather tie keeping Yamaguchi’s hair together and dropped it off the edge of the bed, running his hand through the other man’s hair over and over again until the olive locks were neat and smooth, sliding like silk between his fingers as he slipped his tongue into Yamaguchi’s mouth and kissed him until their lips were red and swollen and bruising. Yamaguchi seemed perfectly content staying where he was as he nipped at the prince’s lips, legs folded on both sides of Tsukki’s body and hands wandering over flushed skin before he canted his hips forward slowly, pressing down until the proof of his arousal was _very_ obvious, hot and hard beneath the waistband of his worn leather pants.

_Oh._ Tsukki’s mind wiped completely blank as Yamaguchi ground his hips down, his own hips bucking upwards in response before he could stop them (not that he’d ever want to). From the way the baker battled for dominance over their kiss and the way he swivelled his hips just right, Tsukki could tell that Yamaguchi probably had some experience under his belt; from past lovers, perhaps, or maybe just quick trysts in the privacy of a dark room with a random stranger from a random bar.

The prince tried his best to ignore the way his chest warmed with jealousy and a little bit of anxiety, too; as the crown prince, abstinence till marriage was expected of him, and he had little more than no idea what to do. His only guide was the vague memory of words and diagrams from rather risque books that had been hidden in a secluded corner of the royal library, books that had made the back of his neck glow bright red as he slammed their covers shut and shoved them back onto their shelves before tentatively picking them back up.

_But for now,_ he decided as he pushed Yamaguchi’s shoulders up slightly to pull his shirt off, _this is enough._ He hated the thought of Yamaguchi fooling around with someone else, of another’s hands travelling over his skin, but his jaw locked up when he remembered that he had no right to be jealous. _This is wrong, isn’t it? I can’t do this with him after what I did… but he’ll hate me anyway. I want to show him exactly how I feel for him, at least once. Just once, I want to make him feel good. I want to be the one who makes him feel good._

Yamaguchi rubbed his hands across Tsukki’s jaw, feeling firm muscle shift under the pads of his fingers as the prince swept his tongue across the back of his throat. Tsukki’s hands crept to his waist, fingers stroking bright comet trails across star-freckled skin as he slid his palms flat against his hips and under the soft, thin cotton of his boxers, digits digging slightly into the flesh right above his ass, below the small of his back. The prince couldn’t shake the jealousy that throbbed in his chest; it stung like pins and needles had been pushed straight into his nerves. _Well… I guess I’ll just have to give him a night to remember, huh?_

“Is this okay? Are _you_ okay?” Tsukki whispered against smooth, saliva-slick lips as one of his hands crept lower over Yamaguchi’s ass, pushing the other man’s pants down along with it, the other still rubbing slow, firm circles into his tailbone. 

Yamaguchi felt his body shudder as soft leather scraped over his dick, already hard and sensitive and nearly dripping onto Tsukki’s stomach, precum smearing in a shiny smudge on his own torso as he swallowed to wet his dry throat. “Well, if you don’t fuck me like, right now, I’m gonna spontaneously combust. But yeah, I’m okay.” He took his weight off his forearms and let his body rest on Tsukki’s, reaching back to pull his pants off one leg and then the other before tossing them somewhere behind him.

He sat back up when he turned around, lifting himself onto his knees when he saw the prince trying to wiggle out of his own trousers, helping Tsukki work them down over his hips; Yamaguchi swallowed the saliva that had suddenly accumulated in his mouth at the sight of Tsukki’s cock standing nearly straight up, slightly longer than average, the head already flushed a rosy red that for some reason looked absolutely _delectable._ Yamaguchi let a soft whine vibrate from his throat as he sat back down, their cocks rubbing together as the baker ran light fingers through the small smattering of pale trimmed curls leading from Tsukki’s stomach all the way to his base, earning him a barely-restrained growl. 

They took a moment to just look at each other, to really _see;_ Tsukki’s usually pale skin was flushed a very pretty peach colour ( _very pretty indeed,_ Yamaguchi mused) that was especially prominent on his neck and ears, and his nipples were dusky pink, hard and sensitive under Yamaguchi’s palms. The baker himself could feel the blood coursing through his veins and heating up his skin, could feel the way his cheeks and ears glowed as he slid his hands all over Tsukki’s chest, fingers unabashedly drawing swirls and spirals and random patterns as he started to move his hips slowly.

_Beautiful,_ Tsukki thought, as Yamaguchi whimpered above him, his cheeks glowing an iridescent cherry hue that made his freckles stand out all the more, his hips moving faster and faster until he had to lean his weight on the prince’s chest for balance. _Beautiful,_ Tsukki thought, as he gently pulled Yamaguchi down to attach his lips to his neck, sucking on the baker’s throat and nibbling lightly at the delicate skin, humming as he felt the little vibrations that Yamaguchi’s noises made against his mouth. _Beautiful,_ he thought, as Yamaguchi’s thighs squeezed him on either side, their hips glued together by clear, sticky strings of precum that strung between their cocks as they moved. His heart swooped and thumped wildly in his chest like a bird trapped in a cage; a crow, perhaps, something born to be free yet tamed by emotions, the crazy, vibrant plethora of emotions that Yamaguchi made him feel. Just because a crow had been tamed, however, did not mean that it didn’t flutter about, and the way Tsukki’s heart fluttered in his chest wasn’t unlike the way his thoughts fluttered about his mind, verbal cumulations of all the things he felt for the man above him. But what are thoughts meant for if not to be said?

“Beautiful,” the prince whispered as he pushed Yamaguchi back slowly, his glasses askew upon his nose. Yamaguchi had somewhat forgotten about them; they hadn’t gotten in the way much, somehow, and Yamaguchi straightened them gently, his gaze endearing as he looked down into bottomless pools of gold with a soft smile. The baker felt lightning spark up and down his spine as Tsukki slipped a hand between their bodies, fingers creeping down to his perineum and collecting the wetness he found there. “You’re beautiful, Tadashi.” 

And with that Yamaguchi leaned down again, his lips so close to Tsukki’s that they brushed together when he spoke. “ _Show me, Kei. Please._ ”

Tsukki brought one finger to Yamaguchi’s hole and carefully pushed in; enough precum had been collected on his hand to ensure that the slide was slick and as comfortable as possible. “F-Fuck,” Yamaguchi whimpered, his ass clenching down tight, his body relaxing slightly after he adjusted. “You can—” He didn’t need to ask. Tsukki had already pulled back before sliding a second finger into him, sinking in all the way to the knuckle and looking for that spot deep inside that would really make him scream. The prince sped up, curling his fingers while dragging over all the tiny ridges and bumps inside Yamaguchi, and it didn’t take long before Tsukki found his prostate; he could tell from the way the baker gasped and clenched around his fingers as he pressed against the tiny nub. 

Yamaguchi was barely even aware of the soft, needy moan that spilt from his lips; he was much too distracted by the bolt of pleasure that had sparked through his body when Tsukki spread his fingers apart and plunged back in, burying them in tight, wet heat. His mind was hazy, his skin tingling, and his entire body felt fuzzy and warm like he had been wrapped in a soft blanket. He was just so relaxed and uninhibited and _happy_ that the words came tumbling off his tongue. “Open me up for you, Kei. Stretch me so I can take your cock.” He couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed, not when Tsukki himself was rock hard and dripping against his stomach. 

The prince swallowed hard, slipping another slick finger into Yamaguchi’s tight hole and prodding at his prostate mercilessly, taking a shallow inhale at the baker’s choked cry. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” 

His only reply was Yamaguchi lifting one hand off his chest to wrap it around Tsukki’s neglected cock, pumping his length a few times before sweeping teasing fingers over the flushed tip and collecting the wetness he found there. “If you absolutely— _hah—_ had to, I’d prefer it if you died after you fuck m— _ah!”_ Yamaguchi canted his head back as Tsukki stuffed in another finger, speeding up until he was ramming into him. The baker couldn’t help it; Yamaguchi’s hips moved along with his hand until he was fucking himself on Tsukki’s long fingers, sitting up straight as his body trembled and he pumped the other man’s cock with one hand. “I— I’m ready— Goddammit just _fuck me, please—”_

_Holy hell._ Tsukki’s mouth was completely dry, his eyes wide and pupils dilated with want. Yamaguchi’s skin was glowing with a thin sheen of sweat, the golden lamplight reflecting off his body and throwing his lean muscles into definition as he rode the prince’s fingers and let filthy words spill from his mouth. _Savour it,_ Tsukki’s mind screamed at him. _You’ll never get to see this again._ He felt that dull dread and guilt grow in his chest, the realisation and recognition that this would be their first and last night together; it hadn’t exactly gone away, not truly, only lessened with the sensation of Yamaguchi’s body against his. _Just one night. Let me give him this, at least, before he hates me forever._ “Are you sure you’re ready?” he gasped as Yamaguchi squeezed his length with a precum-slick hand, his ass clenching down around his fingers in a tight, hot sheath. 

Yamaguchi bent down, his lips gazing up the length of Tsukki’s ear, his voice a soft purr in his chest. “Why don’t you find out?”

Tsukki felt the way his blood thrummed under his skin, the way that every small touch sent sparks flying over his body, and when Yamaguchi lifted himself onto his knees and shuffled forwards with Tsukki’s cock in his hand, the prince could have sworn that his brain malfunctioned from the sensory overload. He could only dig his fingers into warm, satiny skin and stay as still as possible when Yamaguchi lined them up carefully and lowered himself again.

“Hn _nngh,_ ” the other man moaned quietly, his body curling into itself like a petal as he was slowly stretched open by Tsukki’s cock, hard and swollen and slick as he took it all the way to the base until Tsukki was fully encased in soft, wet heat. The prince wasn’t faring much better; it was taking all of his willpower to refrain from flipping them over and railing Yamaguchi into the mattress, but he wanted to be gentle. But then Yamaguchi started to move, and all of his thoughts disintegrated to stardust, floating in the empty galaxy of his mind. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way Yamaguchi rolled his hips on his cock, forcing him deeper and deeper inside, the way his girth pushed a slight bulge through the soft flesh of his pelvis. The other man rode Tsukki leisurely, his weight supported by palms on the prince’s chest, his thighs straining with the effort of lifting and dropping himself onto Tsukki’s cock over and over and over, his own shaft red and dripping against the creamy skin of his stomach. Tsukki bucked his hips upwards by instinct, coming to a realisation when Yamaguchi gasped, his previously half-lidded eyes shooting wide open. _It isn’t quite fair for you to be doing all the work, is it?_

Yamaguchi gasped as he felt Tsukki’s hands tighten on his hips before he was flipped over and pressed into the straw-stuffed mattress. He felt the broad, swollen head of Tsukki’s cock press against his hole, slowly pushing into wet, silky tightness again as the prince grabbed his legs under the knees and pushed his thighs to his chest, folding him in half. “A-ah— Kei—”

“Shh,” Tsukki gasped, leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to Yamaguchi’s mouth, pulling back shortly after. The baker’s hair was spread all around his head like a halo, eyes heavy-lidded, his skin flushed and warm and his breath puffing out on short bursts. “Let me love you, Tadashi.”

A cry wrenched its way out of Yamaguchi’s lungs, his body arching upwards as Tsukki sank his hips forward and pressed in just right, the head of his cock slotted right against Yamaguchi’s prostate. He hissed as the baker clenched down around him, still trying to suck at him even as he pulled out and slid back in, picking up the pace until Yamaguchi was squirming beneath him, moans falling sweet and breathy from his lips as Tsukki fucked him. There was no hurry; they both took their time, and it wasn’t long before Yamaguchi came with a soft cry, his entire body tensing up as his cock spurted creamy white ribbons of cum all over his chest. As he felt the baker clench down around him, Tsukki groaned through gritted teeth, the steady rhythm of his hips becoming erratic as he bucked into that tight, warm heat, bending down to whisper a soft, defeated ‘I love you’ right into Yamaguchi’s ear as he filled him up with hot spurts of his seed.

It was only when they were panting in the afterglow, foreheads resting together, did Tsukki realise what he had said. Those words had slipped out without thinking; they came to him naturally, for they were the words that his heart had been crying out for the longest time. It didn’t feel like he had imagined it would; there wasn’t any magical light that surrounded them, nor did any angels sing. But this was his final surrender, his white flag; Prince Tsukishima Kei was raised to be a soldier. Yet, he had willingly put down his weapons and taken off all of the armour guarding his heart, for his heart didn’t belong to him, not anymore; it belonged to a man called Yamaguchi Tadashi, a man who had stars for freckles and hellfire in his eyes. And Tsukki would hand it over without complaint, even if the man he loved would only want it for a night before any affection he returned inevitably turned into hate. His eyes fluttered open to the sight of another pair already watching him. “Did you mean it? You… You really love me?” 

Yamaguchi sounded like he didn’t understand why Tsukki had fallen for him. _Don’t you know,_ the prince wondered as he gazed down at the man beneath him, _how beautiful you truly are?_ “With everything I have and more.” 

Yamaguchi’s eyes were still dark with lust, his pupils blown wide as he gazed up at Tsukki, his olive hair mussed and sticking to his sweat-damp skin. “Then this time, let me show you how much _I_ love _you_.” 

Tsukki could feel himself hardening again; he still hadn’t pulled out, and Yamaguchi hummed deep in his throat as he basked in the feeling of being full again. “I want you to be rough this time, Kei.”

The prince gulped, running his hands along Yamaguchi’s thighs that were now bracketing his hips. “But I don’t want to hurt you.” And then he added, almost as an afterthought, “And we’re fighting tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to _forget._ I want everything you can give me, and I’m a tough one. I can handle a little rough treatment,” Yamaguchi smirked, pulling himself off Tsukki’s cock with a soft _shlick_. The prince was fairly sure that his brain malfunctioned as the other man flipped over onto his hands and knees, dropping his chest down to the mattress and raising his ass up in the air before looking back over his shoulder with a sly wink. 

Tsukki was definitely getting hard again. _Very_ hard. His cock was straining as he wrapped a hand around it, the tip already flooded with precum. He worked his length with one hand as he dragged Yamaguchi’s hip back with the other, and when he spoke, he could barely recognise his own voice. “You asked for this,” He growled, before he pushed his cock down with his thumb and slammed all the way into Yamaguchi in one thrust.

Yamaguchi’s mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he jerked forward on the mattress, the breath knocked straight out of his lungs. Tsukki pulled out until only the head of his cock was resting inside Yamaguchi’s ass before he slammed back in, his fingers digging tightly into the baker’s hips. “Rough enough for you yet?” he purred, leaning forwards to plant his hands on the bed on either side of Yamaguchi’s head and using his body weight to force his cock into the other man. Yamaguchi wanted to answer; he really did, but he was too busy moaning like a cheap brothel whore while getting fucked open. Sure, he’d had his fair share of one-night stands with random strangers after getting drunk at their local tavern (come on, he _was_ a nineteen-year-old red-blooded male), but they had never been like _this._

_This,_ he decided as Tsukki bit down on his shoulder, drawing a sharp cry from his mouth, _was definitely better._ Those other men had treated him like a toy, something to be used and discarded, and he hadn’t minded. He had been struggling with the bakery at that time, and he’d needed a distraction. But Tsukki wasn’t just _using_ him; Yamaguchi could tell. The prince was aiming for his prostate, and the way that he was biting on his neck and shoulders, marking him up… _He’s marking his territory,_ Yamaguchi realised, letting out a short scream after a particularly violent thrust against his prostate, bucking his hips back desperately for _more, more, more._

“That’s it,” Tsukki hissed, slamming into Yamaguchi as hard as he could; at this rate, he wouldn’t last long, not with all the absolutely _sinful_ sounds pouring from his lover’s throat. “Scream for me. Come for me.” 

Like his body was listening to the command, Yamaguchi could feel himself getting closer to the edge; his body convulsed with every thrust, and he was faintly aware of the tears and saliva that were dripping down his chin. “K-Kei— _Kei_ —”

Tsukki’s arms were trembling, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline and searing, scorching heat as he pressed a shaky kiss to the back of Yamaguchi’s neck. “That’s it, sweetheart. _Come for me._ ”

Yamaguchi tipped over the edge with a sob, his hips humping backwards desperately as his ass clenched around Tsukki’s cock, tight and wet and hungry. He felt a warmth spread through his belly as Tsukki locked them together with one final thrust, burying himself deep inside Yamaguchi as he came, his entire body shaking.

Tsukki spent the last of his strength rolling to the side so that he wouldn’t crush Yamaguchi, both of their chests heaving as their hearts slowed down. “Cuddles,” the baker whispered, reaching a hand towards Tsukki, and who was the prince to deny him? The blond pulled Yamaguchi into his arms, reaching one arm behind him blindly to try and snag the washcloth that had been draped over the edge of a water-filled basin that was on the nightstand next to him; he had a brief recollection of seeing it when they had first entered the room. He managed to grab it without too much trouble, and the water was thankfully warm; he wrung it out as best as he could with one hand and cleaned the both of them up, wiping sweat and cum from slowly cooling skin. Yamaguchi sighed softly, shuffling forwards before he recoiled with a sharp intake of breath; a piece of straw was poking out of the mattress and had scratched him in the side. He struggled upright to pull it out and toss it off the side of the bed before laying back down.

As they got comfortable, Tsukki lifted a hand to cup Yamaguchi’s freckled cheek, thumbing across his high cheekbones. “If you lived in the palace with me,” he whispered, “I would give you mattresses stuffed with the softest feathers and blankets made of thick furs. You’d have clothes made of the finest silk, jewellery of gold, silver, anything you wanted! And servants to cater to your every whim.” This was his last chance to ensure the safety of the man he loved; if he could just convince Yamaguchi to run away with him, to leave the rebellion, to leave everything behind and start a new life as a royal. “I would give you anything you desired. Anything you wanted at all, I would make it happen.” Yamaguchi just smiled, slightly confused, but indulging Tsukki all the same. “Come back with me.”

At that, Yamaguchi’s smile fell. “Kei… I love you more than anything, but you know that I can’t leave them. I’m _one_ of them. I’m a commoner, not a royal.”

“But you could become a royal. You would have everything you wanted, and—” 

Yamaguchi snorted. “And what? Live on the sidelines as your consort for the rest of my life?” 

Tsukki looked to the side awkwardly, his neck flushing red, using his free hand to readjust his glasses that were somehow still clinging onto his nose. He tried to pull his hand away, but Yamaguchi caught it and pressed it to his chest. “I can’t live in the palace; not while the rest of us are suffering. And besides,” he chuckled, his tone softer now, “you know that I’ve never been one for extravagance.”

The prince’s eyes burned, and a tear escaped without his permission. _You have to tell him. It’s the least you can do._

“Hey,” Yamaguchi whispered, worried now. “What’s wrong? Are you worried about tomorrow?”

Tsukki shook his head slowly; he’d failed. Everything was in the hands of fate. “They know.” 

The baker stilled, his brows drawing together. “Who knows? Know what?”

“My parents. They know that we’re gonna attack tomorrow.”

Yamaguchi’s expression was blank; his usually expressive eyes were cold and unreadable as he sat up straight. “Kei… What did you do?”

Tsukki could feel his heart go cold, hardening and freezing into a heavy lump of ice in his chest. “I’m sorry, I had to. They would have sent assassins to kill you—” The prince reached for Yamaguchi again, and the ice in his chest started to crack when he didn't embrace him back. 

“You promised that you wouldn’t tell anyone else.”

He had prepared himself for this; he knew it would happen. That didn’t mean it hurt any less. “I know, but they would have imprisoned me and killed you, there was no other way—” 

“You should have let them!” Yamaguchi started to struggle in his arms, and Tsukki’s heart cracked even more, pain lancing through his sternum. But he didn’t let go, not even when Yamaguchi started to punch his chest. “ _You should have let them!_ Do you know how many people are going to die because of you?!” 

They were both crying mow, and Tsukki’s chest hurt so much that he could barely talk. _Is this what a broken heart feels like?_ “I can’t lose you!” 

“The rebellion is worth so much more than I am. What have you done? How could you be so _selfish_?!” Yamaguchi sounded absolutely heartbroken, his eyes glassy with tears, lips curled into a sneer. 

_Is it that terrible to want you to live?_

The baker’s eyes widened as he seemed to think of something. “You knew and— and you still— you still— W-Were you just trying to sleep with me?” 

Tsukki would never admit it, but at this moment, he completely lost his shit. His plan had backfired majorly. He had just wanted to give Yamaguchi pleasure at least once, and now the other man thought— “ _No!_ I swear I—” 

“Well, how do you expect me to trust you now?! After everything— Was it all just a lie?” Something nudged at the back of his mind. _He wouldn’t do that,_ it whispered. _Think of how he treated you, just now. He loves you._ Yamaguchi ignored it.

“Tadashi— I would never willingly—”

Yamaguchi had had enough. “No! Stop! Just get out. Get out of my bakery, get out of my rebellion, get out of my life!” He was shaking, fingers trembling from the barrage of emotions that were pulsing through his battered heart. “I can’t believe I fell for it... I can’t believe I fell in love with you.” 

Tsukki’s heart completely fucking _shattered_. It broke into pieces, because _oh god Tadashi is crying and he hates me and he thinks that I’ve been doing everything for the past few months just to get intel amd sleep with him and he thinks that I don’t actually love him and oh my god what do I do what do I do what do I do—_

_I knew this would happen._

_So why does it hurt so much?_

"I won't go, not until you give me a chance to explain—" he pleaded, trying not to let go of Yamaguchi even as the baker struggled away. He’d still been seated on Tsukki’s cock, made sleepy by the warm fullness in his belly, but now cold betrayal was stealing through his entire body.

Yamaguchi didn’t know how to feel. His heart hurt, his head hurt, his _whole body_ hurt, and realistically he knew that Tsukki would never try to hurt him on purpose, but he couldn’t pick apart everything that had happened and he needed space to _breathe_. "Just go. Please." 

" _I can’t lose you, Tadashi!_ " Tsukki was frantic, eyes wide, hair a mess, and he was begging for forgiveness that he knew he didn’t deserve; he knew it was hopeless, but it hurt _so bad._

Yamaguchi finally stopped struggling, turning around to face Tsukki, his eyes stone cold. "You just did. If you won't go, I will." 

The baker eased himself up from the bed, and Tsukki let him go this time. He winced as he got to his feet; his legs were still wobbly, and now there was cum dripping down the inside of his thighs, but he pushed away the hesitant hands that reached for his waist to steady him. He bent down to pick up his clothes that were strewn on the floor, limping as he went to the other end of the room to retrieve his shirt that was somehow hanging on the doorknob of his bedroom door. The prince jumped up to help him as he wobbled, but Yamaguchi just turned away. "Please, Tadashi— I would never do that, _I love you_. I know I should have told you before, but I would never just— just _use_ you like that.”

Yamaguchi didn’t say anything at all.

“Tadashi.” Tsukki was hovering right next to him and trying to look him in the eye, but Yamaguchi refused to look into those damned golden pools. He wiped himself down with the washcloth before pulling his briefs and shirt back on, wiggling into his pants and redoing the leather laces. If he had the energy, he would have laughed; who could have imagined? The proud, entitled prince who bowed to no one, reduced to a man who was begging for forgiveness, from a _commoner_. And Tsukki was more than wholly ready to get down on his knees and beg. “Tadashi, please look at me. I swear on my life, you’re not just a _toy_ to me, I— S-Stay here, I’ll go—” 

“Forget it.” 

“No, it’s your room, I’ll—” 

“I’m leaving, Tsukishima.” 

Not Kei. Not Tsukki. _Tsukishima_ ; someone might as well have slashed the prince across his chest with a rusty knife. “...If you really want to go…” _I have no right. I have no right to tell him where to go or where to stay._ He clenched his hands into fists and looked at the ground as Yamaguchi limped towards the door. “At least promise me you’ll be safe. Please.” 

The baker paused just before the doorframe, barely looking back over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be safer at my base than I am here with you.”

The twist of a doorknob and the screech of unoiled hinges. The click of a latch, louder than a thunderclap in the impenetrable silence. He was gone, and Tsukki was left to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart for which he only had himself to blame, as he pressed his face to Yamaguchi’s pillow and cried himself to sleep in the bed of the man he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, in Latin, aelurus means cat, cicuma means owl, aquila means eagle and arbor means tree;)


	6. Things Don’t Always Go as Planned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Death  
> I’m sorry.

Tsukki swallowed hard as he stopped in front of the monster of aged plaster and iron. It was 4 a.m. on the dot, and he’d arrived at the seaside warehouse Yachi had found. He was exhausted; he’d sobbed into Yamaguchi’s pillow for hours the previous night (it had only been 9 p.m. when the baker left) until he’d finally cried himself to sleep, and even then, his rest was fitful. Sick of tossing and turning, he’d dragged himself out of bed in the dead of the night (morning?) and wandered the kingdom’s empty streets until it had been time to go to the base. The building’s walls were stained and corroded from years of exposure from the salty air, and the distant background noise of waves crashing against the rocky shore soothed the prince’s nerves. Or made them worse; he really couldn’t tell. 

A few commoners had already arrived early; the general populace was only supposed to arrive at 5 a.m. to hear the battle plan, but they milled about outside the warehouse anxiously under the cover of darkness, keeping an eye out for royal guards (even though the part of the kingdom they were in supposedly didn’t exist on the official map anymore), dipping into deep bows as they caught sight of Tsukki.

He nodded back awkwardly; in the past, he would have turned up his nose and moved on to whatever ridiculous event or other that was next in his schedule, but now he just found the entire bowing thing rather ridiculous, especially because he tried to make an effort to bow ( _tried_ being the keyword here) back. He stretched out his legs and cut across the main entrance hall of the warehouse, swinging open the crude wooden door that led to a small side room. It had used to be a storage area before the warehouse was abandoned, and now its walls were covered with assorted pieces of paper stuck on by a mixture of water and starch, and it housed a rickety wooden table in the middle of the floor. 

Twelve pairs of eyes snapped to him as he closed the door; he winced slightly under the weight of their glares, but he couldn’t feel the gaze that he craved the most. Yamaguchi was still staring resolutely at a rather detailed diagram of a pair of thumbscrews, and his murderous gaze suggested that he might enjoy using them on a certain someone a little too much. Tsukki shuddered, but a little relief warmed his chest and offered him a short (albeit pitiful) reprieve from his guilt when Yamaguchi pushed off from where he’d been leaning on the edge of the table and walked to one of the walls, trailing his fingers over a list of names. The baker didn’t seem to be limping or too sore, and the pinkish-purple hickies that painted his neck were being brazenly displayed by a low-collared shirt. 

Tsukki expected that Yamaguchi would have told the other de facto captains of the rebellion what had happened; heck, it was the entire reason why he was so nervous. He distinctly heard Tanaka, leaning against a wall, whisper-shout, “I told you, didn’t I, Dashi?” as he walked up to the table, but he ignored it. As much as his heart ached (and it ached something fierce), he pushed it aside for the time being; he needed to go into battle with a clear mind. “I know why you’re all glaring at me,” his jaw tightened as twelve pairs of eyes narrowed, “and I will address it later. But first… Damn it, Tadashi, I know you hate me right now, but please just get over here.” 

To most, Tsukki would have sounded impatient, but Yamaguchi knew him well enough to hear the pleading undertone of his voice. But then again… _Did I ever even know him at all?_ His back still ached with the phantom memory of what had happened the previous night, as he’d gasped Tsukki’s name into the night and fell apart in his arms, but he refused to show it, drawing his spine up straight and setting his teeth against the dull burn. _Ahh, this is gonna be a literal pain in the ass when we’re fighting later…_ For a moment, Yamaguchi considered completely ignoring the prince, but he could feel Tsukki’s eyes focused on the spot between his shoulder blades and snipped, “...I can hear just fine from over here, thanks.”

Yamaguchi didn’t even seem mad; he just sounded _cold_ , professional, like he was speaking to a customer in his bakery. Tsukki didn’t know which was worse, and he sincerely hoped that he’d never find out. He turned to the remaining twelve, repressing the urge to rub away the sharp spike of pain that had driven itself through his chest. “So we’ll set fires in the streets to distract the guards when they change shifts at 6, and then storm the castle before we blockade all five possible escape routes to force the king and queen into the Rosethorne maze before we corner them there.” Grudging nods were seen all around, however fierce their owners were.

“Yachi, Tanaka, Noya, Tadashi, please stick with someone who knows the palace well. It would put a damper on things if one of you got lost in there.” Yachi, Noya and Tanaka merely nodded again; they already knew of the maze’s bloody history. “Tadashi?” Yamaguchi, however, was still facing away from them and pretending to study a drawing of an Arabian scimitar, taking his time and humming thoughtfully before he finally turned around. “Kageyama-kun, I’m sticking with you.” The ravenhead gave a small grunt of assent, his ever-present scowl softening slightly, and Tsukki was (or was he?) surprised to feel jealousy warm his gut unpleasantly. _No right,_ he reminded himself, looking down. _He isn’t yours._

All fourteen of them froze as they heard a soft pattering of footsteps from outside. 

They exchanged glances; the air was charged with an emotion that none of them could pinpoint. It wasn’t fear, or shock, or worry; _Ah_ , Tsukki sighed as he realised. _Anticipation._ It wasn’t much, but being able to find the answer to that insignificant question put his heart and mind at ease, at least temporarily. Being nearest to the entryway, Kinoshita pushed the door open (they all winced in unison at the scream of rusty hinges) to see two children standing in the middle of the warehouse, looking around hesitantly like they weren’t sure where they were supposed to be. They were dressed in threadbare peasant’s clothes, their faces and bodies smeared with dirt and their hair streaked ash-grey from it.

The girl caught sight of them, stepping forward and back a few times before she finally decided to speak up, the slightly shorter, slightly skinnier boy hiding behind her slightly. “Umm… we were told to come in here… The other kids are outside too.” Both of the children shared the same dark curls and overly large eyes; Yamaguchi assumed that they were siblings, and that the girl was older from the way she pushed her brother behind her protectively. He stepped out of the storeroom, forcing what he hoped was a gentle smile on his lips, walking forwards to ruffle their hair comfortingly. “Why don’t you tell them to come in? We have food, and blankets.” The baker patted his pockets until he found a date cake that he’d been saving for later, slightly squashed against his thigh but still edible. He pulled it out and unwrapped the wax paper around it, bending down to offer the dessert to the siblings. “Here. Take it.” The little boy couldn’t hide his curiosity; he peeked out from behind his sister, reaching his hand out and carefully pulling the cake out of Yamaguchi’s grip. “Thank you,” he mumbled, before breaking the cake _almost_ exactly in half and giving the almost unnoticeably bigger half to his sister, before she shoved it back into his hands and took the smaller one instead, biting into it carefully like it was a rare delicacy.

 _To them,_ Tsukki realised, _it probably is._ Unbidden, his lips curled up into a small smile; somehow, he’d known that Yamaguchi would be great with kids. His smile only grew as the baker whispered something to the children that made them laugh, their soft, young voices tinkling in the still air like bells, faces grinning in the dim light of oil lamps. Unbeknownst to the prince, Yachi stood to the side while watching him quietly, taking in the love that was clear on his face with a thoughtful expression on her own. 

The fourteen de facto leaders of the revolution crossed the first floor of the warehouse as children of varying ages started streaming in; the two siblings must have run off and given them the all-clear. They had decided to let all the children stay in the warehouse while the older people fought; since the part of Salis they were in technically didn’t exist anymore, it was the safest place they could be. Outside, defying the curfew that was in place from sunset to sunrise, were citizens from all walks of life; scholars, labourers, merchants, elites who supported the cause and many more, all murmuring in low, tense voices as they sharpened their weapons and readied their lit torches, the tar-coated wood the only source of light in the impenetrable darkness of early morning. A hush fell over everybody Tsukki stepped outside, followed by everybody else, the buzz of voices quieting until all that could be heard was the humming of cicadas and the crash of waves against the rocks of the shore. Suga cleared his throat and stepped forwards.

“Good morning!” He paused at the soft chuckles he got in response, dry humour at the irony of such a mundane, everyday greeting when they were about to go into _battle._ “If you would please get out the map of the castle given to you previously, you’ll see that you all have a letter written on the upper right corner.” Suga, being the absolute angel he was, had somehow managed to procure hundreds of copies of the castle’s blueprints. He refused to confirm or deny anything, but based on the slight differences between each one and the bags beneath his eyes, the other thirteen had guessed that he’d drawn them by hand. Daichi had nearly thrown a fit, but he had already drawn everything over the course of a few weeks, and what’s done was done.

“The letter represents which group you’re in, which in turn corresponds to which haystacks you’ll be lighting on fire; group A will be responsible for lighting the haystacks in the north of Salis, group B for the south, C for the east and D for the west.” There was a murmur of noise as everybody compared which groups they had been assigned to. “This part is simple; just run along the streets and light any haystacks you come across.” Suga huffed a sigh, swallowing to give his throat a brief rest; it _was_ tiring to make your voice loud enough for several hundreds of people to hear.

“Now, once you’re done with that, get to the palace as fast as you can, and you’re gonna have to block off the paths marked on your maps; Again, group A will be responsible for passage A, B for passage B, so on and so forth. Don’t worry too much about that; just follow the paths marked out on your maps.” 

As he spoke, Suga could appreciate the genius of the plan that Daichi, Hinata and Kageyama had come up with; there was no doubt that Daichi was the best battle strategist they had, and despite how silly and immature they seemed, both Hinata and Kageyama had good heads on their shoulders. However, he couldn’t stem the thread of unrest that thrummed in his veins; there was no telling what the guards would do now. Would they let the city burn, because they knew it was a distraction? Would they stay in the palace, or would they leave to put out the fires? Suga swallowed again. “Our allies in the castle will be hooded or disguised. If you encounter any normal guards… Do what you think is best.” He didn’t need to explain; everybody knew what could happen, and they were prepared to kill if that was what the situation called for. 

Kiyoko stepped forward, serene as ever; it was comforting. “Please make sure that your faces are covered before you go. Look out for each other, and get back home in case anything happens. Oh, and burn your shoes if they have blood on them so you don’t leave tracks.” The crowd rustled as bandanas and hoods were adjusted, and Tsukki’s feet moved before his brain did. He stepped forward and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up under the attention of hundreds of people. _His_ people. And so he took a deep breath and spoke. 

“There’s a saying; All that glitters is not gold. Three months ago, I would have confidently said that I understood that saying. I didn’t, not truly. But I think I do now.” The prince’s voice had started off soft, but it was getting louder and stronger, gaining confidence as the people perked up at his words, sloughing off the last clinging vestiges of sleep.

Tsukki felt his legs start pacing, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. “See, this rebellion? We might be mostly commoners, but we will show the royals _who we are_ , and that is something that _nobody_ can take away from us.” He swallowed, looking down before he turned his gaze back to the crowd, amber irises reflecting the light of hundreds of individual flames. “I may still hold my title, but I stopped being a prince from the day I joined this rebellion; I became one of you. We might not be gold, but each and every one of us glitter with our identities; our hopes and our dreams that the monarchy has disregarded. So fight.” His voice was strong now, carrying over the heads of his people as he stood proud and tall in his simple cotton shirt and trousers. His heart thumped fiercely in his chest, a steady rhythm in his ears against the background of whispering voices.

“Fight for your friends. Fight for your families. Fight for the people you love. And most importantly, fight for _yourselves_. Because we have found the voices that we had previously been convinced we didn’t have, and it’s time to make ourselves heard. We _deserve_ to be heard, and _they will not ignore us_!” Tsukki’s heart swelled along with the wave of noise that rose from the crowd, the roar of an army of people thirsty for justice; he could feel the presence of thirteen others by his side, with Yachi and Yamaguchi right next to him. 

He turned to the baker on his right, nearly flinching as he realised that a pair of dark eyes were already looking at him, but he held Yamaguchi’s unwavering stare as their eyes met for the first time since the previous night, his own eyes beseeching. The other’s gaze was still stone-cold, and Tsukki knew that if he didn’t own up to what he’d done right then, there would truly be no chance of redeeming himself in Yamaguchi’s eyes. He licked his dry lips and turned back to the crowd. 

“The royals know. We don’t have the element of surprise anymore, and it’s my fault.” All of the cheering died down at once, creating a wave of silence before the whispers started again, tumultuous like the distant thrum of war drums. For the first time in his life, Tsukki felt like shying away, but he forced himself to push his shoulders back and lift his chin, even against all the arresting stares he could feel against his skin. “But the life of the man who rallied all of you was on the line. My parents threatened Yamaguchi Tadashi. They threatened the only person I truly love in this world. If he were someone you loved and you were in my place, would you do the same?”

Yamaguchi liked to think that he wouldn’t, that he’d willingly sacrifice Tsukki to save everybody else. But he really didn’t know if that was true; he couldn’t tell if he was selfless enough anymore, not when he’d gotten a taste of what love felt like. The exhilaration and the adrenaline rush was addictive. It was dangerous. _It’s dangerous_ , Yamaguchi thought, as his chest warmed despite himself; the fact that Tsukki valued him that much… _Too dangerous._ Or at least that was what he told himself. 

“Prince Tsukishima, _love_?”

“Well, I’ll be damned… That boy has a heart after all.” 

“He _told them_?! Well, if my darling Adrianna’s life was on the line…” 

Tsukki closed his eyes. Next to him, Yamaguchi had somewhat relaxed; he hadn’t let his guard down entirely, but he had uncrossed his arms, at least. “Will you fight? Knowing this, will you still stand by your choice?” Tsukki knew what answer he wanted to hear; he just didn’t know if he would get it. 

At least, not until an old man stepped out of the crowd. His hair was shot through with silver-grey and his face was lined with age, but he stood tall, carrying his torch high above his head. “I think that we’ve already made our choice, Your Highness, and none of us are gonna change it.” 

Tsukki swallowed down the grateful burn behind his eyes, the gratitude that those people accepted him even after what he’d done. He jumped as an elbow jabbed into his right side, leaning back as Yamaguchi waved a flaming torch in his face, the baker holding his own in his other hand. Tsukki accepted it without hesitation, hefting its weight in his hand before he raised it high above his head. He turned, walking down the dirt path that led to the city as cheers rose in waves that could rival the ocean’s. 

On that day a prince marched, with the rising sun at his back and his people by his side, their footsteps the steady drumbeat of a revolution that would decide their fates. 

*

Everything was going according to plan. They had lit the fires in the city, and surprisingly, guards had been dispatched to control them, leaving the palace’s defences weakened. They had stormed the palace and blockaded the secret passageways; everything had been going according to plan.

Until it didn’t. 

They had underestimated the sheer number of royal guards. It was obvious now why some of them were dispatched to the city; there were more than enough guards left to spare to defend the castle. Tsukki stood frozen in a familiar corridor that he couldn’t recognise, surrounded by both friends and foes; he could hear the sounds of battle going on around him, but everything was muffled and in slow motion, like he was underwater. The material of the bandana wrapped around his face was scratchy against his skin, and the hood he wore cast his face into shadow, letting him hide away. 

But then an arrow whizzed past his face, cutting a thin slice into his cheek, and the sharp, stinging pain brought everything back into focus. His vision cleared; he could see everything around him, from the people fighting to the casualties. He saw a tall, broad-shouldered woman disarm a guard and cut him down from the corner of his eye, saw a young man get his throat slit by the edge of a sword, his face still surprised as blood poured down his front and he keeled over. He saw the bodies littered all over the ground, covered in too much blood to distinguish if they were a guard or a rebel, and _the blood—_

It was everywhere, spraying across the castle’s rough-hewn stone walls, slicked across the floor, collecting in puddles around still-warm bodies, dripping from the bottoms of Tsukki’s boots. The prince’s vision pulsed in and out of focus as he stumbled forward, his limbs feeling too heavy to be natural as he took in the blood and entrails spread all over the floor as people fell to the ground around him. And oh god, the _smell—_ The stench of charred flesh stung his nose, the coppery tang of gore and death clung to the back of his tongue and his people were _dying._

From the corner of his eye, Tsukki saw a broadsword swing horizontally for his neck and he ducked, tightening his fingers around the leather-wrapped hilt of the claymore he found in his hand. He lifted it to block the guard’s next strike and steel struck against steel, the prince twisting his hands as Daichi’s training kicked in. He pushed upwards and broke their deadlock, ducking under the guard’s blade as he hooked a foot around the other man’s ankle and tripped him like they were children in a schoolyard. 

He didn’t look back as the guard hit the red-slicked stone floor with a sickening _slap_. “FALL BACK!” he bellowed, turning to help a fallen girl up from the ground by her elbow and breaking into a jog. He could only hope that the other thirteen were alright as they rounded a corner, the message to retreat being repeated until everybody was sprinting out of the castle. The commoners would run back to their homes; the guards couldn’t punish them if they couldn’t even recognise them; they didn’t have the authority to punish people without reason. They just didn’t need much of a reason. Besides, they couldn’t imprison _everyone_ ; Salis’s economy would collapse. _They’ll be fine. They have to be._

Tsukki’s chest heaved as he skidded to a halt and tugged off his boots, hopping awkwardly on one leg as he struggled; someone had started a fire, and he tossed the blood-soaked leather shoes on top of the flaming pile of melting rubber and ruined fabric. He started running again, praying that everybody else would have the common sense to take off their shoes too, and burn any bloody clothes they had when they got home. But that was all he could do, as tiny stones cut into the soles of his feet as he ran and his cheek grew sticky with blood; hope.

*

As they neared the base, the sweltering air thrummed with nervous energy. All of the fourteen were alive; they’d somehow found each other on the run back to the warehouse. Everybody had seemed marginally alright, except Yachi. They didn’t know how hurt she was yet, but it had to be bad; Tanaka had carried her on his back the whole way. 

As soon as they stepped into the cool shade of the warehouse, Tanaka gently lowered Yachi to the ground, smearing red everywhere; both their clothes were soaked with blood. “No— no, no, no, Hitoka. Hitoka.” With how pale he was, you’d think that Tanaka was the one bleeding out. He took Yachi by the shoulders and shook her with trembling hands, but her half-closed eyelids barely fluttered. 

“Tanaka— Tanaka, stop, shaking her isn’t going to help.” Narita knelt down next to them, ignoring the blood soaking through the knees of his pants as the rest of them crowded around. “What happened?” 

“I— I don’t know, she— she got stabbed in the back by a dagger.” Tanaka swallowed hard, scrambling back so that Narita would have more space to work. 

The medic asked Tanaka to put pressure on the wound as he listened to Yachi’s breathing; it sounded wet, and the air wheezed in and out of her lungs. They all jumped as she coughed weakly, and Narita drew back when he saw the scarlet that painted her lips, his own lips pressed into a straight, grim line. “Tanaka… let go of her stomach.”

The other man just pressed down harder, and Yachi let out a pained squeak. “No! We can save her, we—”

“Tanaka. There’s nothing we can do.”

Yamaguchi knelt down next to them, his eyes wide. He spoke so softly he wasn’t even sure if he could hear himself. “Is there really…?” 

Narita shook his head slowly, his eyes turning glassy. “The dagger punctured her lung… it’s filling up with blood. It would be kinder to let her bleed to death than drown from the inside out.”

Noya joined them on the ground, tears already dripping down his face as he crossed his legs and pulled Yachi’s head into his lap. 

“Dacchan.” The word was spoken weakly, with the voice of a dying person. 

Yamaguchi slipped his hand into Yachi’s blood-slick one, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat. “I’m here, Hitoka.”

“D-Dacchan… Trust… Trust him.” Yachi coughed again and more blood bubbled from her lips, spurting from the gaping hole through her torso. Yamaguchi felt his throat clog up with tears as her teeth gleamed ruby red, her chin painted scarlet as she spoke her last words. “Nothing lasts forever, so—” She shuddered, looking Yamaguchi dead in the eye as she lifted her free hand to his face, blood-smeared fingers framing his cheek. _“Take the risk._ ”

They could only watch as her eyes slowly slid closed, one last small smile curving her paling lips before her hand dropped to her side. It was morning and the sun had risen, but nothing dared to break the silence that had wrapped around them suffocating and cloying and _horrible_ , because Yachi couldn’t have just died. Not Yachi. Not sweet, bubbly Yachi, not social-anxiety-check Yachi, not Yachi who always seemed so full of life that everything else looked dull and bleak in comparison. Yamaguchi was vaguely aware of someone sobbing in the background before he realised that the one sobbing was _him_. It wasn’t long before he wasn’t the only one crying; everybody had loved Yachi. She couldn’t be gone just like _that._

  
  


Looking on in silence as Yamaguchi, Tanaka and Noya cried over Yachi’s body, Tsukki wondered how it all went so very, very wrong. They were supposed to win, they were all supposed to make it out alive, but —Tsukki took an inventory as a shaky Narita looked everybody over— Daichi had also been impaled through the stomach (but the wound thankfully wasn’t fatal), Suga had a broken wrist, Kiyoko’s cheekbone was bruised, Hinata and Kageyama were covered in nicks and cuts, and Kinoshita, Ennoshita, Asahi and Narita himself were burnt from when they were running in and out of fire to save people; they didn’t really want to fight and hurt anybody. After they had calmed down enough, Narita also diagnosed Noya with a pulled hamstring, and Tanaka had dislocated his left shoulder. Tsukki and Yamaguchi were also a little worse for wear, but they got off relatively unscathed. 

Yamaguchi was still sitting on the floor, tears dripping off his chin as he held Yachi’s limp hand in his lap; Tsukki distantly heard Narita say that the baker was going into shock. He knelt down, trying to put his arms around Yamaguchi, but he choked as he was shoved off with two surprisingly sturdy palms to the chest. “This— This might not have happened if you didn’t— She might have still been alive. _She wouldn’t have had to die._ ” Tsukki didn’t even have time to respond before Yamaguchi had clambered away and was running up the stairs that led to the second floor of the warehouse, his heartbroken sobs echoing eerily. Tsukki clenched his hands into tight fists, fingernails digging crescent slivers into his palms. He desperately wanted to follow the baker, but he knew that he had no right to. Not anymore.

In his room, Yamaguchi slammed the door shut and slid down the other side, his arms clamped down over his chest in an attempt to get rid of the pain that was stabbing at his already-abused heart. He couldn’t stop crying, not even when he had no tears left and his sobs turned to dry hiccups. _First Kei and now Hitoka; I guess nothing really does last forever, huh?_

He thought back to the day Yachi had convinced him to start the rebellion. _They’ll write hymns and ballads and poems about us,_ she’d said, her eyes shining with the plans she had for the future. They didn’t know what a rebellion meant, not truly; they hadn’t had any idea of what the death and grief would feel like. _And how many people are feeling like I’m feeling now? How many died? And for what?_ Yamaguchi’s heart cried out for all the people who had died for nothing. They’d failed. _I’m sorry, Hitoka. I’m so sorry._

There was once a girl with a future. 

Until all she had left was her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said; I’m sorry.


	7. No Matter How Hard We Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was in her dreams  
> For a reason that she could not understand  
> But she welcomed his embrace  
> For they were but two kindred souls, moored together on an island  
> Lost at sea  
> With nothing to hold on to  
> Seeking solace in each others' warmth  
> As they drifted from reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood and nightmares!!

Her vision was blurry around the edges, and she reached up to readjust her glasses before she found that they were gone. Sweat dripped into her lashes as she panted harshly, her chest heaving with exertion. Her hands felt warm, too warm, and she looked down to realise that they were dripping in blood, the gore running red, red, red all down the front of her blouse, heat blooming in its wake.

She tried to blink her vision clear as she stumbled back, holding her trembling hands out in front of her as her breathing shuddered, her feet slipping against blood-slick sandstone and sliding out from under her until she landed heavily on the floor with a gasp. _No._ Right next to her was… Yachi. Kind, sweet Yachi, sprawled belly first on the ground with a knife’s hilt sticking out of her back, blood spreading in a warm, sticky pool around her.

She scrambled towards her friend’s body, her breathing stuttering as her hands became wet with blood; there, not too far away, was Suga. His beautiful dove-grey eyes were blank, cold and empty as he lay on his side, his body curling around the handle of the claymore that stuck out from his stomach.

She heard Daichi’s outraged roar as he skidded towards the sage before he was cut down too, a faceless soldier driving a sword straight through his gut, watching emotionlessly as blood bubbled from his lips and he collapsed to the ground.

And there, behind him… Four charred corpses, disfigured and nearly unrecognisable, but somehow she _knew_. _Asahi-san. Ennoshita-san._ She wanted to sob, but she was too exhausted, her body wasn’t listening to her, she couldn’t stop shaking— _Kinoshita-san and Narita-san. No..._

She heard Kageyama’s shout as an arrow struck him in the shoulder, another one piercing his chest even as Hinata screamed his name, too distracted to notice the knife that had been aimed for the small of his back; he paid for his lapse in attention with his life, falling heavily to the ground as Kageyama clawed his way towards him, still too weak to reach the orange-haired guard before his eyes fluttered closed.

And to her left… A grime-streaked face, hair buzzed short to his scalp, blood-smeared fingers reaching for her face even as she froze. “Kiyo…ko…”

Kiyoko jolted bolt upright in her bed with a violent gasp, her heart beating so hard that she nearly choked on the air. She tried to steady her breathing as she looked around her, calming down slightly when she realised that she was in her bedroom at the rebellion's base, soft moonlight shining through her window. _A nightmare. Just a nightmare._

A breeze blew into the room and she shivered, made uncomfortably aware of the cold sweat that had soaked through her thin linen chemise, glueing her hair to her skin as it dried. Her arms trembled behind her as she lowered herself back down onto the bed, staring blankly at the cracked, water-stained plaster of her temporary bedroom ceiling as she waited for her heart to stop battering her ribs like it wanted to shatter them.

_It’s fine. They’re all fine. They’re alive._ She took a deep breath, holding it in until her lungs burned until she let it out. _For now._ Immediately feeling stupid for adding that afterthought, Kiyoko swallowed, suddenly noticing the dryness of her mouth and throat. _Oh well. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get a good night’s rest after that…_ She swung her feet over the side of her hard, scratchy, straw-stuffed mattress, sucking in a quick hiss as her soles pressed against cold concrete and bending down slightly to take her glasses from the small stool beside her bed. She felt a wave of panic crest within her when she couldn’t find them before her fingers closed around cool, thin metal. She unfolded them and set them on her nose, squinting in the darkness and wincing slightly at the tenderness of her bruised cheekbone as she quickly grabbed her satin slippers and slipped out of her room. 

The warehouse had two floors and the bedrooms were all on the second floor; their food and drinks were all kept downstairs, which was proving to be a hassle when somebody got thirsty in the middle of the night. _We seriously need more oil lamps,_ Kiyoko thought distractedly as she carefully felt her way down the staircase one step at a time, her feet clad in her satin slippers that had been hastily slid on, her only source of illumination being the dim lamps that lined the walls. 

When she reached the bottom she headed straight for the storeroom, where all their water barrels were. The door barely creaked when she opened it; someone must have oiled its hinges, likely children before they were sent home to their parents under the cover of night. She pried open the top of the round wooden barrel, fighting back a yawn as she reached for a wooden cup and ladle; she blinked the fog of sleep from her eyes as she scooped the water into her cup and took a small sip, before draining the whole thing. She was already feeling sleepier, calmer, and she could feel the exhaustion of the day weigh heavily on her bones. 

Her thirst quenched, the handmaiden put everything back the way she found it and slipped out of the storeroom, fully intent on going back to her bedroom before she heard a sound. She couldn’t help the way her heart jack-rabbited in her chest; she was still shaken by her nightmare. It could have passed as wind, but at the same time… wind didn’t usually sound like it was in so much pain. Kiyoko stopped moving, listening carefully as the soft buzzing of cicadas filled her ears… 

She heard it again; it was definitely a sob, choked and soft, but a sob all the same. She couldn’t tell who it was; any one of them could have cracked under the pressure of, you know, the entire revolution thingy. She herself was dangerously close to panicked tears just a few minutes ago. Walking out of the warehouse to the dirt and gravel path in front of it, she saw a tall figure leaning on the railing lining the edge of the cliff and looking out over the sea, his silhouette dark against the bright glow of a full moon. 

The night was still young and there was a slight cool breeze, enough to make the hem of Kiyoko’s chemise flutter around her knees as gravel crunched under her satin slippers, alerting Tanaka of her presence. She was surprised to see him, but also not; she’d thought that he would be exhausted after helping Yamaguchi, Tsukki (Yamaguchi had put aside his current one-sided animosity for this) and Noya dig Yachi’s grave, with only one arm on top of that, but it was obvious why he couldn’t sleep. 

The man turned around sharply when he heard Kiyoko’s footsteps, before turning back and using his right hand to swipe furiously at his tears, holding his breath to try and quiet his crying as Kiyoko walked up and put a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. She squeezed gently and waited in silence when he started making choked little stuttering noises, trying to find his words amidst the pressure in his chest. “I…” Tanaka took a deep, trembling breath. “It _hurts_ , Kiyoko-san. It hurts so bad. I loved her.” 

At that, Kiyoko felt something strange and unfamiliar blossom in her gut, distracting her from the unrest that had bubbled just under her skin since she’d woken up; a hot twist of… _jealousy?_ She tensed up, the hand on Tanaka’s shoulder tightening, but Tanaka didn’t seem to realise. Her eyes fluttered shut as a few memories floated to mind; Tanaka bringing her a bowl of hot porridge and urging her to take a break when she had been poring over documents for hours. Tanaka correcting her form when she was training with gentle nudges, pointers and encouragement. Tanaka draping a woollen blanket over her shoulders when he noticed her shivering on that particularly cold night, his grin warming her more than the coarsely-dyed fabric ever could.

They could have been perfectly platonic things on his part, but somehow, they had coaxed her heart into feeling something… more. Kiyoko suddenly felt too hot, both from the jealousy in her stomach and the warmth that spread through her chest, steadying her and purging some of the unsteadiness that had been plaguing her since she’d woken up in cold sweat. 

She was so deep in her own thoughts that she nearly jumped when Tanaka spoke again. “I loved her like a sister, and now she’s gone.” Kiyoko felt the tension unwind from around her spine and her shoulders relaxed, before guilt prickled along the back of her neck and she berated herself for thinking of something as shallow as her own feelings when Tanaka had just lost someone that would might as well have been family. “I should have protected her better, I should have— I…”

Kiyoko swallowed hard, her jaw clenching; she was uncharacteristically nervous. _Why am I nervous?_ “You did everything you could…” she began, before gathering her resolve, “Ryuu.” 

Tanaka barely reacted at the sound of his given name, the only outward sign of his surprise a quick flutter of his eyelashes. He was grateful for Kiyoko, truly, but he had dreamed of her saying his name for ages, and he didn’t want her to say it just out of pity. “Please don’t say my name like that, Kiyoko-san. Not if it’s just because you feel sorry for me.” He leaned forward against the rusted railing, not pulling away from Kiyoko’s touch, but not leaning into it either.

Kiyoko, for the first time in her life, didn’t know what to say. “I’m not… I—” She cut herself off. She did call Tanaka by his given name partly because she wanted to comfort him, but also because… She didn’t know. Even with all her intellect, she couldn’t figure out _why_ she felt so drawn to Tanaka. If the other man could feel her eyes on him, he didn’t react in any way, so she let herself study him; The sharp cut of his jawline and nose, the lashes that feathered his passionate eyes, the buzzed hair that was a dark shadow over his skull. _Why were you reaching for me in my nightmare, Tanaka Ryuunosuke?_ She really wasn’t sure. So instead she asked, “Why?”

“Because if you aren’t going to love me back, I don’t want to fall for you even more than I already have.” Tanaka’s eyes flashed to hers, golden-brown meeting steel grey briefly before he looked down at his hand, stretching his fingers out before clenching them into a fist and relaxing them again. 

Maybe that was it, then. His straightforward and blunt manner, hiding the kindness and consideration that he wrapped under layers of intimidating bluster. Kiyoko’s heart was beating just a tad faster than usual, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t because she was scared. She still wasn’t exactly sure why she did it, but she knew that when she ducked underneath his right arm (his left shoulder had been popped back into its socket and tucked into a sling, courtesy of Narita) and settled her head on his chest, next to his neck, it wasn’t because of pity. She felt more grounded than she had all night, like the comforting warmth bleeding into her was chasing away the last fleeting vestiges of shakiness in her body, steadying her like a favourite childhood blanket, or a blazing fireplace; a beacon of hope in the bleakness of a cold winter’s night. The tender ache blooming in her cheek was more than worth it. “There was nothing else you could have done. It isn’t your fault,” she murmured softly, her voice insistent. 

“But _she died in pain_ , Kiyoko-san.” Under the moonlight, with shimmering tears painting his tanned cheeks, his eyes and nose red and irritated from crying, Tanaka looked… broken. “It should have been me instead.” 

Kiyoko still didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t speak at all. She just leaned closer as Tanaka snaked a hesitant arm around her waist and pulled her in so that her nose was just barely brushing his collarbone, holding her tight in his arms as silent tears dripped down his jaw.


	8. The Break in the Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if they lose someone else?

Noya fidgeted uncomfortably, fingers rubbing the dark, dyed fabric at the base of his hood. For the past week, the royal guards had been taking citizens for Trading Day ever since the rebellion had attacked and failed, but that hadn’t seemed to affect everybody too much; sure, there was a certain amount on fear and anxiety in the air, but life went on and Salis’s markets were busy and bustling as usual, packed with throngs of people running errands or just shopping about. 

_Don’t they realise they could get taken at any moment?_ Noya tightened his jaw and swallowed in annoyance, adjusting the wicker basket of red apples under his left arm to make sure that it was tucked securely. His other hand still played with his hood, tugging it farther forward over his head before he glanced around, his gaze furtive and darting like a school of fish among the coral reefs of people. Now that he thought about it, he supposed that he was being rather hypocritical, because he’d been the one who volunteered to get more apples from the market; he couldn’t stand being cooped up in the warehouse for any longer. It was big, but Nishinoya Yuu was nothing if not a free spirit. 

At least, that was the excuse he gave. In reality, the warehouse felt too empty without Yachi there, even though she was only one out of what had previously been fourteen; he often found himself turning around to tell her a joke or pounce on her shoulders, the grin on his face fading away when he realised that she wasn’t there. She would never be there again. 

He slipped silently along the edges of the thrumming crowd, his leather boots scuffing against rough paving stones whenever he had to shuffle to a stop to avoid colliding with someone. Taking a deep breath of fresh air when he finally got away from the buzz and chaos, he clutched the basket closer to his side, taking comfort from the grounding feeling of its knotted handle digging into his hip. His steps quickened subconsciously as he approached an alley, but he wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have been; his mind was still preoccupied about Yachi. Yachi and a certain intimidating-looking long-haired teddy bear who had lent him a shoulder to cry on… 

That was probably the reason someone managed to sneak up on him and shove a rough cloth over his nose and mouth, the fabric coated with a powder that immediately stuck to the sweat on his upper lip as a broad hand pressed it to his face. An arm clamped down over his stomach even as he kicked and struggled and thrashed, holding him tightly in place as he was manhandled into the dark alleyway, his feet tripping over the ground.

Once they were hidden in the shadows, Noya tried to jam his elbow backwards into his assailant’s body, but the arm around his torso gave him a harsh squeeze which forced him to draw in a panicked gasp. _Sawdust and belladonna root,_ he realised from the sweet, woodsy smell of the powder which was in his lungs. _Ironically nice scent for a soporific…_ Those were his last coherent thoughts as he squirmed weakly, his vision blurring before he slumped to the ground, eyes fluttering shut.

Somewhere in a dark alleyway, a wicker basket fell to the ground, red apples rolling over dirt-coated flagstones. 

*

Cicadas chirped in the darkness, thriving amongst the trees which shielded the rebellion’s base from curious eyes. Twelve people had been worrying and planning incessantly since nightfall; Noya still wasn’t back, and the only possible reason was that he’d been taken. The rebellion did have a half-baked plan; they would wait until the ship carrying all the civilians had left the port on the night before Trading Day, before sneaking aboard the ship and breaking everybody out at once.

They weren’t too concerned as of yet because the guards wouldn’t hurt them _too_ badly; no merchants would want to purchase damaged goods. Now, though, they had a reason to hurry, because Noya was one of their own. They didn’t abandon their own. It might seem selfish for them to not do the same for the other civilians, but they needed Noya; this was personal. 

As they all crowded around the table in the storeroom, Yamaguchi and Tsukki locked eyes; they had made up a few nights ago, when Yamaguchi couldn’t sleep and his need for comfort overruled his anger and betrayal.

*

_Tsukki jolted awake as his bedroom door creaked open, his hands clambering behind him to prop himself up. He had never been a deep sleeper, and the fact that he’d lost someone he considered a close friend didn’t help. The rebel prince was surprised when a head of messy olive hair peeked through his doorframe, slipping into his room and shutting the door behind him, iron hinges groaning softly before the heavy wood was bolted shut._

_Yamaguchi slowly stepped out of the shadows, the pale, silvery moonlight streaming in through the window highlighting his face as he got closer to the bed. Tsukki sat up straighter, squinting slightly at the vaguely baker-shaped blob that was currently hovering at the edge of his mattress, before he scooted back and lay down as it lifted the woollen blanket that covered his legs and crawled under it, pulling the fabric up over the both of them._

_Tsukki’s heart hammered a quick, erratic staccato in his chest, but his body stayed comically still as Yamaguchi snuggled in, throwing an arm and a leg over him before looping his other arm under the prince’s. The baker squeezed Tsukki’s waist and pressed his face into his side, and it wasn’t until Tsukki felt the cold wetness on the side of his chest did he realise that Yamaguchi was crying. The other man hadn’t given any hints or indication at all; he wasn’t sniffling or making any noise, he was just… crying._

_And Tsukki knew what that type of silent crying felt like; you felt like your soul had been sucked out of you, leaving you nothing more than an empty husk, too weak to even make a sound or do anything other than let the tears run their course. He had cried like that many times as a child, in the darkness of his bedroom, his back bloody and sore from another lashing that he didn’t deserve and his heart bruised and battered for another reason entirely. Even though he had eventually learnt to tolerate the pain and the fact that his parents didn’t love him, he had never quite forgotten what that cold emptiness felt like._

_Yamaguchi sighed softly as Tsukki turned beside him, one pale arm coming up to pillow his head and cup the back of his skull, the other winding around his back as they wiggled around until they were both comfortable. Even when he felt cold and empty and exhausted, Yamaguchi was still a human furnace, and he was thankful for Tsukki’s cool touch on his overheated skin as the prince held him close. The baker sighed as Tsukki tucked him to his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his tense forehead, his lips caressing the skin again and again until Yamaguchi had finally fallen asleep, breathing peacefully for the first time in days._

*

As their eyes met across the table, they were silent for long enough that the rest of the room fell quiet too, their restless discussion and murmuring drawing to a halt. A thread of electricity seemed to run through each and every one of them, fortifying their will and turning their spines to steel; they were going to save Noya. They had to. 

They couldn’t lose anyone else.

*

_A few hours later_

Tsukki crept silently across the flagstones leading to the bunker-like entrance of the palace’s underground dungeons, the soft felt soles of his boots barely making any noise. It was rather disconcerting to be back there so soon, but he forced himself to focus on their mission. For all the past Trading Days, kidnapped civilians were held in the palace dungeons and chained to a huge wall, according to Tsukki’s meagre knowledge and the information that Suga had managed to smuggle from one of their scholarly allies. It wouldn’t be easy to get Noya out, not to mention the heightened security that would surely have been put in place after the riot; Tsukki, Yamaguchi, Asahi, Tanaka and Daichi had nearly ran straight into a phalanx of guards when they had crept onto the castle grounds. Daichi and Tanaka had insisted to come along, Daichi because he had become fiercely protective over the remaining thirteen rebel leaders after Yachi had died, and Tanaka simply because Noya was his best friend; Tsukki had grudgingly agreed on the condition that they didn’t strain themselves, seeing as their injuries were still healing. 

Tsukki was starting to wonder if it had been a bad decision on his part, though; Daichi didn’t seem to be fully _there_ with them. His head was in the clouds, and it was either because he had something (someone?) on his mind, or his injury was bothering more than he let on. Tsukki sincerely hoped that it was the former. It was relatively easier to clear your mind than to heal a stab wound, and they needed their captain with a clear head if they wanted to make it through the night alive, not to mention successful.

The rebel prince signalled behind him for the others to keep up before he dashed into the entrance, immediately skidding down the spiral staircase he found as quietly as he could before slipping behind the wall that the prisoners were chained to. “Shit.” He backed up as the other three squeezed in, his eyes darting back and forth in the near-darkness, feeling the icky brush of cold, wet stone against his bare forearm.

Tanaka ran a nervous finger down the top of the iron blade of his axe, the weapon strapped to his hip. “There’s no other way. I’ll get him free and you guys hold them off.”

Daichi frowned absentmindedly, his reactions still a bit slow, and Asahi didn’t look too pleased either. “But your arm—” the captain started before he was cut off.

“ _And_ your stomach. He’s my best friend, Daichi-san,” Tanaka hissed, hefting the axe into his right hand and giving it a few experimental lifts as his fingers fitted around the lacquered wooden handle. “I’m going to save him.” Everyone in the rebellion had all gotten weapons about two months ago, stolen from the castle’s extensive stash (courtesy of the 1st Battalion, of course) when Daichi and the other soldiers started training them. Tanaka had discovered his propensity for axes, and people had been carrying skillets for days after to defend themselves from any possible stray throwing hatchets. The man had taken to the axe he was holding in particular, a lightweight iron beauty with a leather-wrapped oakwood handle and an edge that could cut through bone. The question was whether or not it could cut through metal. 

All five of them jumped slightly when they heard a loud snore, followed by another in quick succession. Taking a deep breath and a risk, Asahi crept to the edge of the wall and peeked around it before darting back just as quickly. “I see seven guards, leaning against the opposite wall,” he breathed, “five asleep _._ ” 

“Noya? Do you see Noya?” Tsukki hissed, his heart rate ratcheting up a notch. They might actually be able to pull this off without dying. That was unexpected. 

“Yeah, he was… somewhere further down the row. All the civilians chained to the wall look like they’re asleep, too.” Asahi looked back towards the entrance as footsteps treaded towards them before voices came into earshot. They all froze as the footsteps and voices got louder, booming laughter pounding in their ears along with their blood. 

Daichi was closest to the base of the staircase since he was the last one to hop into the dungeon. Naturally, that also meant that he was the first one spotted when three young guards spilled out of the stairwell, two boys and a girl. For a few seconds, nobody moved. The captain shook off his daze and slowly reached behind himself to draw his scramasax knife from the sheath across his back, but his eyes widened in recognition when the two boys sent him discreet but respectful nods and the girl winked, all three of them smiling slightly.

“Oi! Everything alright there?” The slight commotion had woken one of the guards, a pot-bellied, heavyset man; peeking out from behind the guards, Tsukki scowled bitterly. He doubted that the man would even be able to run, much less fight; the people who lived in the palace wasted such finery, while the citizens in the streets were starving. The other guards were starting to rouse themselves, all of them in various stages of physical _un_ health except two; the tall one with a headband and a wooden pipe in his mouth, and the dark-haired one with glasses on his nose. Tsukki’s scowl deepened.

“Mhm! Just waiting for ya to wake up,” one of the boys said, his bleach-blond hair long on top, buzzed short and dark in an undercut at the bottom. Yamaguchi thought that it may have been a trick of the light, but he was rather sure that he saw the other grey-haired boy nod to the tall blond guard in the far corner. 

The pot-bellied guard turned around to kick his colleague awake. “Oi! Get up, you lazy pi—” he slumped to the ground after being cracked viciously over the head with the metal pommel of a sword. 

The girl grinned, swinging her weapon around to face the other six guards as her short, dark hair swished around her face. But she fell to the ground almost instantly; a scrawny guard rammed into her shoulder in his haste to get up the stairs, his boots clomping on the ground as he ran out of the dungeon. Seconds later, the deep tolling of a bell rang through the air, accented by the soft thuds of unconscious people being lowered to the ground.

The other five guards were already incapacitated; Daichi (who seemed to have scraped himself together and stopped worrying about whatever had been on his mind), each of the boys and the two other guards had handled them. The other four rebels were still half-hidden behind the wall, thoroughly confused by the sudden turn of events, but Daichi seemed plenty happy as he pulled all five of the guards into a huge embrace, whacking the girl solidly on the back as they all laughed, exchanging handshakes with the two older guards and pulling the boys’ heads into noogies that left them crying out for mercy. 

Tsukki, Yamaguchi, Tanaka and Asahi looked at each other before the priest cleared his throat. “Umm… I’m assuming it’s safe to come out now?” 

Daichi laughed wildly over the continuous ringing of the bell. “Guys, come meet the undercover members of the 1st Battalion.” He gestured to the two boys. “These are the Miya twins, Atsumu,” the blond boy raised a hand in greeting, “and Osamu.” His grey-haired twin merely nodded. “And this—”

“Let me guess,” Tanaka interrupted. “She’s Kageyama Miwa. Tobio’s older sister, right?” 

Tsukki tsked. Now that he thought about it, the girl did bear an uncanny resemblance to the dark-haired half of their resident idiot duo. Daichi just smiled. “And this is Ukai Keishin and Takeda Ittetsu; they’re the best seniors a guy could hope for.”

“Still quite the flatterer, aren’t you, boy?” the blond one ( _Ukai,_ Yamaguchi guessed) muttered, although he looked quite fond. He took a puff from his pipe before shoving it into his uniform pocket and breathing out the smoke. “Get them free, kiddo.” He nodded to the four other guards, and their entire demeanor changed. They switched from playful to deadly in a matter of seconds, and soon five broadswords were out of their scabbards and being hefted into position. “We’ve got your back.”

With a small nod, Daichi sprinted to the other end of the wall, to where Noya had been suspended with chains from his wrists and ankles. His clothes were torn in places, and the iron shackles were rusted all the way from his arms to where they were anchored to the wall with giant eyepins; the captain winced at the way they rubbed and bit into the other man’s skin. It wasn’t unexpected though; the entire dungeon stank of mildew and algae, and the floor was slick with… Daichi didn’t want to know. 

But there was another smell in the dungeon, something sweet. It was faint, but Daichi would know that scent anywhere. “They’re asleep with belladonna root and sawdust! You need to shake them awake—” He turned around to call Tanaka but he was already right beside Noya, rolling his good shoulder with his axe in hand. 

“Go help the others, I’ll get him down.” Asahi, Tsukki and Yamaguchi were already tugging and hacking at the other civilians’ chains with their own weapons, and Daichi ran to help them after hesitating for a while longer.

“Here they come!” Takeda’s voice somehow managed to carry over the incessant ringing of the bell that was seriously getting annoying. All five of the guards were now hooded, their faces and hair obscured from the light as they readied their weapons, and new guards poured in from the stairwell. At the first clang on metal on metal, the rebels looked back, but Osamu yelled, “Don’t worry about us! Get them free and go!”

However, it was impossible not to worry. There were only five people fighting, but twenty guards were already in the dungeon and there were still more pouring in. Tanaka swung his arm back, hacking away again and again at the chains holding Noya in place.

_Clang. Clang. Clang._

_Snap._

The chain anchoring his left ankle broke, and Noya’s leg swung down, the cuff still deadweight above his foot.

_Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang._

_Snap._

Now his right ankle chain was gone too; The man groaned softly as all his body weight was transferred to his arms and shoulders, the muscles straining painfully. 

_Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang._

_Snap._

Tanaka’s arm was starting to burn, but he did his best to keep going; Noya was now swinging from one arm, and that had to hurt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that most of the other prisoners had been helped to the ground and were bashing their cuffs off with whatever they could find, or picking the locks with Yamaguchi’s arrows; there were about twenty in total, and Tanaka felt his pride sting when he realised how much slower he was with just one arm. 

He felt movement behind him and instinctively raised his axe to block the strike, but it never came. Yamaguchi was standing in front of him, crying out as a guard whipped him across the back with a spare length of chain, his body jerking forwards against the wall, a quiver of arrows sliding off his shoulder as his bow clattered to the ground.

_Oh, hell no._ Tsukki turned away from the young man he’d been helping and tightened his grip around his orichalcum dagger. It was like he’d been possessed. He was barely aware of the way he sprinted across the slick ground; he only knew that he had to protect Yamaguchi. As the guard swung the chain back to strike again, Tsukki ducked under the weapon and reached under the man’s arm, plunging the dagger straight into his heart with a feral snarl and twisting it until he hit the ground dead. He heard footsteps behind him and dropped into a squat, spinning around on his knees before he sliced through the Achilles tendons of the guard that had snuck up on him, stabbing his blade straight through the woman’s sternum as soon as she fell to her knees. 

The ground was slick with blood by the time Tsukki was done woth the other two guards, and it wasn’t until the last one hit the groud did he realise that everybody was staring at him. He immediately seeked out Yamaguchi’s gaze, worried about what it would entail; but in it, he only found that fierce intensity, the same one he had fallen in love with. He stepped back as Yamaguchi ran forward to hug him, holding his arms to the side and satisfying his lover with a kiss on the forehead for the time being. “I don’t wanna get blood on you,” he breathed as his heart slowly calmed down, lips trembling against Yamaguchi’s skin, the dagger in his hand shakily resheathed at his hip. 

Tanaka had finally managed to get Noya down, and the shorter man was marginally awake and remarkably lucid, considering he’d literally been poisoned. He was still trying to work his cuffs off, but Miwa grabbed him under the armpits and lifted him to his feet, only letting go when he stopped swaying. “No time. Just go, before more guards come.” 

Daichi turned to the guards as the other four rebels instructed the civilians to get back home, Asahi scooping a weak and drowsy Noya into his arms. “Thank you,” he sighed, an arm wrapped around his torso; his stomach wound was bothering him more than he’d like to admit, even though he hadn’t even done much fighting. 

Ukai let out a deep breath, striding forward to ruffle the captain’s hair with his clean hand. “Thank us by putting a new king on the throne.”

  
The older guard watched his junior run out of the dungeon, along with the other civilians and rebels. He’d watched Daichi grow from a boy who had barely been of age, still unsure of himself and unconfident in his abilities, to a strong young man. A _good_ man. He sighed wistfully, lifting his chin and his blade to meet the next guard that swung at him; _the best thing we can do is buy those kids more time._ Little did he know that a few streets away, Daichi was thanking him silently, sending a prayer to the heavens to protect all of them through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I know that I’ve been driving y’all up the wall with all the angst, so the next three chapters are literally just gonna be fluff (and then more angst wheeeee)


	9. Silence Speaks Louder Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BADABING BADABOOM HERE IS YOUR FLUFF— Ok, fine, more like a traumatised Noya and one very gay panicking Asahi who is stubbornly refusing to acknowledge his gay panicking, but it’s still kinda fluffy so jUST TAKE IT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I sound neurotic but I probably am neurotic and I just drank three double-shot iced lattes in an hour so I'm on a caffeine high thank you that is all goodbye

Asahi’s fingers tightened as he walked up the warehouse’s staircase, adjusting the makeshift first-aid kit in his arms. He, Noya, Tsukki, Yamaguchi, Tanaka and Daichi had returned to the warehouse panting and exhausted, adrenaline still pulsing through their veins. Narita had taken one look at Noya’s prone form in Asahi’s arms and immediately demanded that his injuries be assessed. The priest’s brows drew together at the memory of Noya’s wounds; the chafing around his wrists and ankles from rusted metal shackles, the irritated, bloody marks across his back where he was lashed with something Asahi wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know.

The door barely creaked when he walked into Noya’s bedroom and the other man didn’t stir from where he was sitting silently on the mattress, his head bowed like his neck was too weak to support it, hands clasped loosely in front of him. It was disconcerting, to say the least, to see someone who was usually hyperactive so subdued. Even the blond streak at the front of his hair that was usually spiked up seemed to be drooping. Asahi put the items he was holding on the nightstand; a fresh change of clothes, a basin of warm water, a washcloth, a large clay mug of hot herbal tea, and a tin of healing herb-infused salve that Narita had whipped up out of nowhere from the willow bark, chamomile, beeswax and honey he’d fortunately found at the edge of the forest. Apparently, the wounds on Noya’s back had stopped bleeding and they just needed to be cleaned and kept dry. 

Asahi gulped. He felt a cold bead of water drip down the back of his neck; he’d washed up quickly after Narita had looked him over, and his hair still wasn’t dry. When the medic had finished Noya’s medical assessment, Asahi had immediately volunteered to take care of Noya for the rest of the night without properly considering what it entailed. Now, though, it was becoming very apparent that there was no way he could treat the other man’s back without first taking off his shirt.

His father’s rosary beads seemed to dig into his chest, smooth and round beneath his cotton shirt, reminding him that he was a _priest_ and that this was probably (read: definitely) a violation of his code of conduct; priests weren’t supposed to touch anyone in any ways that could be misconstrued. But then again, over the past few months, he had been feeling more and more… rebellious under the influence of a certain troublemaker he was rather fond of. _And I’m just helping him. As a friend._ Asahi stepped towards Noya cautiously, trying to think of how to go about with the whole situation without making Noya any more uncomfortable; The priest felt something clog up his throat when he remembered how traumatised the other man must be. 

It was quiet; not even the cicadas dared to shatter the silence that seemed almost physical in the way it filled the air and seeped into their clothes, ringing loudly in their ears. Noya didn’t even look up when Asahi pinched the hem of his torn, bloodstained shirt and pulled it upwards slowly with ever-so-slightly trembling fingers and carmine cheeks; he simply raised his arms, face still tilted downwards.

He didn’t look up when the priest knelt down to pull off his ripped, grimy cotton pants and briefs, utterly unbothered by his own stark nakedness; his brown eyes were blank, empty and dark. He didn’t even say anything when Asahi dunked the washcloth into the basin and wrung it out, setting the warm, wet cloth against his skin.

_Stop blushing. You have no reason to be embarrassed. It’s not like this means anything. It’s not like you undressed him because you’re gonna—_ The priest mentally cut himself off before he thought of anything more shameful; he could just imagine his father scowling down at him from heaven. Asahi had no doubt that his cheeks were bright crimson; he felt horribly inappropriate to be in the presence of someone so… _bare_ , not to mention touching him. He had to grip the washcloth tight to stop his fingers from trembling as he slid it over Noya’s shoulders, dragging the cloth over the dips and curves of muscle. He was surprised when Noya tilted his head to the side to give Asahi better access to his neck, and the priest sincerely prayed that Noya would forgive him for letting his fingers linger just a little longer than they should have.

He rinsed the cloth again, taking Noya’s hand in his to hold his arm up ( _only to hold it up,_ he told himself resolutely, cheeks still glowing bright as ever) before methodically wiping it down, from shoulder to fingertip. He was especially gentle when he got to the other man’s wrist, being mindful of the friction burns that circled all the way around, of the rust that tinted his skin. Asahi gently dabbed at it until it was clean before doing the same with his other arm, teeth sinking into his full lower lip as he tried to get his blush under control.

Asahi’s inhale shuddered as he set the freshly-rinsed washcloth against Noya’s collarbone and the other man leaned forward into his touch. _Why does this feel so… obscene? We’re not doing anything inappropriate. So why do I feel like I’m breaking my code of conduct?_ His heart battered against his ribcage as he hesitantly swiped the washcloth down to Noya’s chest, the words of the vows he had taken when he was thirteen bouncing around his skull, the vows he had made when he became a priest. 

_For as long as I am a priest, I will maintain my celibacy._

_For as long as I am a priest, I will not marry._

_For as long as I am a priest, I will not fall in love._

_Oh._ Asahi’s eyes widened and his hand dropped to his side. _Oh. I guess I am breaking my code of conduct after all._ He lifted his hand to Noya’s chest before he caught himself halfway and lowered it again. _Why doesn’t that bother me more?_ He had to ask himself just one last time, as if he didn’t already know the answer: _Why did I volunteer? Why did I want to be the one to take care of him?_

_Because you love him._

The answer popped into his mind, clear as day. Asahi inhaled sharply, surprised not because of the words, but of the voice that had said them. His father’s voice. And the old priest didn’t sound angry, or disappointed, no; the only thing that Asahi could detect was fondness before those words faded away as quickly as they came. _Papa? Did that mean that… you approve?_ There was no answer, but Asahi didn’t expect one. He supposed that if his father really objected he would have said something more, so he just smiled and didn’t question. He lifted the washcloth again, reaching up (he was kneeling on the floor) to rewet it when he realised that it had gone cold; he must have been pondering for longer than he’d thought. 

Noya leaned into Asahi’s touch when the priest set the washcloth against his chest, and this time Asahi didn’t fight his blush. He took his time dragging the cloth over Noya’s front, over lean muscles and smooth skin, and Noya didn’t seem to mind; if anything, he leaned forward so Asahi’s palm was pressed flush to his stomach, and the barrier of the washcloth was somehow both too thick and too thin at the same time. Asahi’s cheeks flared even brighter with his silent admission that he wanted it gone, but he was seriously afraid that he might spontaneously combust. He bit down on his lip as his hand slipped lower, before he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away, moving to the top of Noya’s thigh and working down to his feet, being especially careful at his chafed ankle. Asahi couldn’t help grazing his fingers over the back of the other man’s calf, but he pulled away to work on Noya’s other leg before he let himself do anything more. 

He sighed silently, looking up at Noya’s bowed head, his eyes tender. _Damn you, you demon. You make me want to do such unspeakable things._ Noya’s expression was still unreadable, his face relaxed yet tense at the same time. So Asahi did his very best to make sure that Noya felt comforted, to make sure that he knew he wasn’t alone, that Asahi was there for him. In Asahi’s eyes, it was the bare minimum he deserved. He wiped Noya down gently, smoothing the washcloth carefully over his skin with long, slow strokes until the other man was pale and shiny like a newly-minted coin. 

Asahi slowly straightened up and walked over to the other side of the bed. He knelt down behind Noya, awkwardly shuffling forward so he could dip the washcloth in the basin again and rinse it out. He couldn’t help the small exhale that slipped past his lips when he looked at Noya’s back; there were several angry red streaks across the expanse of his skin, the areas around them already blooming in a myriad of colours from bruising; pink and purple and yellow and green, but there was nothing remotely beautiful about it at all.

The wounds themself were thickly crusted with dried blood, but they thankfully seemed to be closed; Narita had been more worried about the prospect of blunt trauma than open wounds. Despite being as gentle as he possibly could, Asahi was rather worried when Noya didn’t make a sound as the priest began cleaning his wounds. _Don’t they hurt? Can he not feel the pain? He’s supposed to feel pain, right? Or is he just numb? Is that bad? Come to think of it, with the amount of blood here, it must have hurt when I took off his shirt earlier; the fabric would have stuck to his skin. But he didn’t even react… Is it because there’s still belladonna in his system?_

Even as he wrapped the washcloth around the tip of his finger and used it to gently work away the flakes of dried blood, Asahi could feel an unfamiliar anger rising within him. He was a mild-mannered man and he rarely got angry, but this was just too much. Hurting Noya, hurting _anyone_ like that wasn’t right, and he was terrified of the possible mental repercussions too. He could _feel_ the rage thrumming through his veins, hot and furious under his skin, so much so that he felt like his body was overheating. He only snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed Noya’s lean muscles shuddering under his palms, and he realised that he may have been pressing his finger down a little too hard. 

“Sorry, Noya. Just a little while longer, okay?” Asahi uttered apologetically, his brows furrowing as he reached over the other man’s shoulder to rinse the washcloth again. The dried blood on Noya’s back had slowly dissolved into faint red streaks across his skin, and Asahi diluted them with every swipe of the wet cloth until he was finally blood-free, albeit slightly pink-tinged, but otherwise clean. The water in the basin was now a cloudy red, and Asahi cringed slightly as he dropped the dirty washcloth back into it. 

Reaching for the small metal tin of salve, Asahi breathed in the fresh, minty sweetness of chamomile and willow bark as he unscrewed the lid and set it beside him on the mattress. The ointment was tinged green from the juice of the chamomile leaves that Narita had pounded into a paste in his mortar, before tossing it into the hot skillet in front of him and melting everything down along with ground willow bark, honey and beeswax. Asahi made a soft noise of discomfort as he sat down behind Noya to situate himself cross-legged on the mattress instead; his thighs were starting to burn from sitting back on his haunches for too long. Noya still hadn’t moved or made a sound, but somehow Asahi knew that he was still awake even though he couldn’t see his face; he suspected it was the tension in the other man’s shoulders that gave his wakeful state away. 

The priest dipped two fingertips into the tin of salve, rubbing the smooth, waxy substance between his fingers. The medic had ground the herbs fine enough that the ointment wasn’t gritty at all, and it spread easily when Asahi carefully brushed a salve-coated finger across one of the welts on Noya’s back. It wasn’t obvious, but the other man seemed to relax slightly, a soft exhale leaving his lips, the first sound Asahi had heard him make since they got back. Asahi allowed himself a small smile. _God bless Narita and his herbs…_ He scooped a whole chunk of the ointment onto the back of his hand before closing the tin and tossing it aside. 

Taking a small bit at a time, Asahi warmed the salve between his fingers and pressed it into the long slashes across Noya’s back that were thankfully already starting to scab over. The willow bark seemed to be working; Noya was nowhere near as tense as when they started out, and Asahi wondered how much pain he had actually been bearing, his jaw set grimly. Once he was done, he unfolded his legs and shuffled off the bed again, moving in front of the bed to dab the rest of the salve onto Noya’s wrists and ankles; the chamomile would help with inflammation. The priest grabbed the fresh change of clothes he had brought and shook them out before helping Noya into them; he pulled the soft cotton nightshirt over the other man’s head, being mindful of his wounds, before pulling the cotton briefs and pants up Noya’s legs and carefully setting the elastic waistbands against his skin. He realised that he hadn’t been uncomfortable with Noya’s nakedness anymore because he’d come to terms with it, and the thought brought a small smile to his lips. It felt good to smile again. 

The clay mug that Kinoshita had found in the storeroom had done its job well; the tea that Asahi set on the nightstand was still reasonably hot. They had started a small fire on the floor of the warehouse before propping a pot on top, and Narita had set them all to work gathering chamomile, lemon balm, peppermint, lavender and valerian root. It had been rather tricky with only vivid descriptions to go by, but they were in luck; the owners of the warehouse had seemed to have planted a sort of herb garden at the edge of the forest, and they had no problem finding everything they needed. The medic had tossed the whole lot into the pot along with some fresh honey (thanks to the beehive they found) and distilled tap water, and they’d let the tea simmer for as long as they could afford to before Kinoshita doled out a cup to everyone. Asahi held the mug out to Noya, waiting patiently for him to take it. “It’ll help you sleep,” he murmured, gratified when Noya took the mug from his hands with minimal persuasion required and drained the entire thing in one go. Not only would it help him sleep, but it would also help speed up his wounds’ healing and help purge any remaining belladonna from his system, which ultimately meant one very drowsy Noya would make his appearance soon.

Sure enough, Asahi didn’t have to wait very long after he sat down beside Noya on the bed for the other man to start swaying slightly on the spot. As soon as he noticed, the priest wrapped one arm around Noya’s front to lower him sideways down on the bed so that he wouldn’t be sleeping on his wounds, carefully tucking him under off-white cotton sheets that had been washed thin. He stood up with a heavy sigh and turned to leave, but he froze when he felt a weak tug on his wrist. Asahi turned back around slowly, his eyes going wide as Noya’s watery gaze locked him in place; this was the first time that night that the other man had made eye contact with him and Asahi could see why now, why he had been avoiding it all night. Noya felt frightened and alone and so very scared.

His heart pulsed in his chest as he recalled what had happened a week ago when Yachi had died. He’d been going to his own bedroom when he heard someone crying, and his ears had led him to Noya’s door, slightly ajar and silent as it swung open. Inside, Noya had been curled into a ball on his mattress with his face buried into his knees, sobbing miserably, and Asahi had felt an unexplainable, inextricable urge to comfort him.

He’d crept in quietly, sitting on the bed and letting Noya sob into his shoulder, and when the other man fell asleep, he’d left even though all he’d wanted to do was _stay_. His rosary beads suddenly felt as if they weighed way more than they actually did, pressing down on his chest. He knew that he couldn’t stay. It would be inappropriate; even after everything, he was still a priest. Wouldn’t staying the night in somebody else’s foom be pushing the boundaries a little too far? 

  
But then again… Noya was _scared_ and that wasn’t allowed. So Asahi crawled onto the bed, wiggling around until he was flat on his back before he scooped Noya onto his broad chest. Soon enough, he felt his shirt become damp with tears as Noya cried silently into his shoulder, still not making a sound. Asahi was sure that his heart cracked a little, because Noya had always been strong; from the way he stood, chin proudly held high and strong shoulders thrown back, his spine ramrod-straight, intense eyes never afraid to meet others’ even with his “small” stature.

His very body glowed with charisma, with glittering confidence and strength, but he wasn’t always strong, not entirely. Asahi could see that then, once Noya had been stripped to his rawest; he felt alone, he was scared, he was _vulnerable._ And it was also then Asahi swore to himself that he’d protect the man now snoring softly in his arms. He’d protect him with all he had. No matter what it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small FYI just in case: I only said that Asahi was a priest, but I never specified what religion he belonged to. In this case, there isn’t even a specific religion; all of the "vows" and "code of conduct" was stuff that I made up myself :) Yes, I did take some inspiration from Christianity (this is set in a sorta-medieval time after all), but this entire fic is supposed to be in a French Revolution/Medieval/I Don’t Even Know What My Brain Is Doing Anymore setting Xp So if there are any religious people reading this, ehehehe, please don’t misunderstand (I really don’t mean any disrespect!) and get mad or come @ me, ‘cause I’m ✨actually really fragile✨*cries in emotional instability* 
> 
> If you’ve been here since the beginning, thank you for sticking with this story 😌 If you’re new here, please brace yourself for a whole lot of crackhead energy because things are gonna get wild! Have you eaten yet? Please go and grab something to munch on, and don’t forget to hydrate!🥰 And please please please get at least seven hours of sleep if you can, being neurotic like me because of sleep deprivation is not a good idea— At any rate, I love y’all lots!! See you in the next chapter ❤️


	10. Blood Clotting Beneath Nails and Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I lay here  
> If I just lay here  
> Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsukki’s in love with Yamaguchi’s hair and it’s adorable and I’m so soft for these two dorks oh my god—

Tsukki couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t draw his eyes away from his hands that were still coated in blood, dripping it onto the wooden floorboards. The congealing red liquid was everywhere else, too; caked gummy under his nails, drying crusty on his clothes, and he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling.

He was hyper-aware of every sensation that brushed across his body; the stiffness of his shirt against his stomach and chest, the skittering itch that raced over his skin at the tackiness of his fingers, the mattress of Yamaguchi’s bed that creaked under his thighs when he shifted his weight. His heart was pounding in his ears, too fast and too _loud_ because he had just killed four people and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe_ —

“Kei?” The prince’s head snapped up as Yamaguchi closed the bedroom door behind him with a bump of his hip, a shallow metal basin balanced in one hand and a washcloth hung over the other. Tsukki’s amber eyes were still blown wide when Yamaguchi sat cross-legged on the floor near his feet and gently pulled one of his hands from his lap.

_He cleaned up,_ the prince thought hazily; Yamaguchi’s face was fresh and free of smudges. Tsukki’s heart still fluttered around in his chest like a panicked, frightened bird, and he distantly heard his own heavy breathing echoing in his ears, way too loud for the baker’s small bedroom. He watched Yamaguchi dunk the washcloth into the water-filled basin and squeeze out the excess water, bringing it up to swipe at his blood-crusted skin. He didn’t relax per se, but he could breathe a little easier under Yamaguchi’s gentle ministrations, his heart slowly calming down. 

So, he let himself indulge in the way Yamaguchi rubbed gentle circles into the skin on the backs of his hands, lost himself in the way the other man made him strip and carefully washed the dirt and grime from his body until the water in the basin had turned a cloudy, greyish red. Yamaguchi set the dirty washcloth aside and wove their fingers together once

Tsukki had dressed and sat back down, studying the way that their hands seemed to fit together perfectly, fingers interlocking and resting against each other in a way that was just natural; Yamaguchi’s hands were tanned and freckled, and Tsukki’s red from all the scrubbing. He looked up, and the prince finally locked eyes with him, like an invisible thread had drawn tight between them. 

Tsukki felt something drip from his eye, cold and wet across his skin like a little crystal of ice. He pressed their hands even closer together, palm to palm, wrist to wrist, velvety soft skin against his own a warm comfort that cut through the veil of cold numbness cloaking him. “What are we doing, Tadashi?” Yamaguchi must have sensed that Tsukki had more to say, because he didn’t reply; he just sat there quietly waiting for the blond to find his words. “...Is it worth it? All this death and grief and bloodshed… Is it worth the future we’re fighting for?”

The baker moved his thumb down to rest over Tsukki’s pulse, the blood pumping strong and still a tad too fast to be normal. He looked away for a moment, and Tsukki could see his throat bob as he swallowed, his olive hair gleaming in the low lantern light. His shoulders curled inwards as he exhaled, stroking his thumb over the inside of the prince’s wrist in slow, steady swipes. “Kei… I don’t know. I really don’t.” He looked up, and in that moment seemed more charcoal black than wood bark brown, dark and nebulous voids that trapped the light, shadow upon darkness upon ink; a moonless night, terrifying in its pitch black, yet comforting with the fact that everybody was equally blind in its embrace. “But isn’t it better to live in the light, even if it burns you, than to hide in the shadows?”

Tsukki could feel himself nod, a slow forward tilt of his head as a breath slipped from between his lips. Yamaguchi’s fingers were still between his, grounding him, slowly pulling him back from the cold, dark headspace that he had been trapped in. He didn’t like it one bit; it reminded him a little too much of cold nights in his bedroom, curled into a ball and crying alone while huddled under his blankets, trying to use the cotton and goose down to mimic the human touch and comfort he so desperately craved. It brought back too many memories of that cold, scary _aloneness_ that had carved his chest empty, stealing all of the air he tried to draw into his lungs no matter how panicked his gasps were. He nearly jumped when he felt someone squeeze his hand. 

_Fuck. I let myself slip again…_ His eyes flicked upwards at the feeling of Yamaguchi pulling his hand closer, the tension somewhat bleeding out of his shoulders at the soft, tender press of plush lips against his knuckles, pale and bony against Yamaguchi’s caramel undertones. He got the message; _stay with me._ His inhale shuddered before the words started pouring out, a dam that had finally been released. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. For everything.” His exhale trembled too, but maybe just a little less. “This is all my fault. But I couldn't— let you die.” 

Yamaguchi’s eyes fluttered closed, his long, hickory lashes sweeping across the tops of his cheeks like butterfly wings. He brushed the tip of his nose over Tsukki’s fingers, between his second and third knuckles, his breath warm. “I’m sorry too, Kei. I knew… I knew that you weren’t just trying to…” He faltered, his words tripping over one another in haste as he mumbled into Tsukki’s hand. “I’m sorry I accused you of just trying to use me for—”

The baker unfolded his legs and rose up onto his knees, and Tsukki let go of his hands in favour of reaching down to gently cup his elbows and help him to his feet. Yamaguchi awkwardly slid his knees onto the mattress one after the other, shuffling forwards until he was fully seated in Tsukki’s lap and his nose was slotted right up against the prince’s neck, taking in deep lungfuls of his scent; just a slight hint of the coppery tang of blood, honey and lavender and peppermint and chamomile from the soap that Narita had made in copious amounts for all of them, and that one familiar scent. That comforting undercurrent of cedar and vanilla, the same scent that had bled into the air of his bakery after Tsukki’s repeated visits, twining with the notes of spun sugar and sweet marzipan and nutty almond praline. The baker had a very sharp nose; he’d immediately identified those two scents the first time the prince stepped into his shop, and although he hated to admit it, he had instantly taken a liking to the light, woodsy smell, the pastel scent of regality. The prince smelled of a crisp, sunlit autumn glade in the early morning, with dry russet leaves crunching under your feet and dewy grass sparkling in the pale, gentle sunlight.

Yamaguchi let himself soak in the warm, constant cedar-and-vanilla smell, taking in deep breaths of it as long fingers picked at the tie in his hair, pulling it off before slowly raking through his overlong locks. Tsukki smoothed his fingers through Yamaguchi’s hair over and over until the baker was drowsy and pliant in his lap, draped soft and boneless over his chest and shoulder. _Wasn’t I supposed to be the one comforting him?_ And then Yamaguchi came to a conclusion. It wasn’t sudden; rather, it broke over him in a soft wave, like the rising sun’s first light peeking into the sky and bleeding it orange, chasing away the darkness, stealing through his body and spreading a blooming warmth wherever it touched. Before, Yamaguchi had felt comfortable and at ease whenever he was in his bakery, surrounded by the scents of sugar and flour and nuts. But now, it was that constant, warm cedar-and-wood scent that he’d come to crave, the scent that was associated with _comfort_ , the scent that meant _safe_. The scent that meant _home_. 

Tsukki basked in the feeling of Yamaguchi’s thighs tightening around his waist, the warm weight of the other man melting into his chest, snuggling into his touch. He slipped an arm around the small of Yamaguchi’s back and pulled him even closer, the fingers of his other hand massaging his scalp. “I’m sorry if my actions ever gave you the impression that I just wanted to sleep with you. I…” he whispered into the side of Yamaguchi’s neck, dropping a brief, sweet kiss onto the warm skin he found there. “I need you, Tadashi. More than I can express.” A soft sigh brushed across bare skin. “Seeing you believe that I had been lying the whole time…” Tsukki tightened his grip, drawing the baker flush against him, a tear falling onto the lens of his glasses. His voice was impossibly soft; it would have been carried away by the night wind had he not whispered it straight into Yamaguchi’s ear. “It broke me.”

Yamaguchi felt his heart crack along with the break in Tsukki’s voice. He tried to swallow down the cottony guilt that had suddenly clogged up the back of his throat, but he couldn’t hide his wince when Tsukki’s arm became a little too tight, and the prince didn’t miss it either. 

“Fuck.” He immediately let go, his right hand cupping the back of Yamaguchi’s skull, pale eyes filled with concern. “I’m so sorry, I forgot about your back— Are you okay? How bad does it hurt?” It felt good, to have someone to take care of and mother; it gave Tsukki purpose and provided a welcome distraction to take his mind off all the blood he had spilt. He was feeling much better than before, but he knew that his anxiety was still lurking in a dark corner of his mind, skittish and wild and ready to attack him at any moment. _No. Focus on him._

Yamaguchi put his hands on Tsukki’s shoulders for support and shifted back slightly, pressing their foreheads together. “Not too bad. It was fine when I washed up earlier…” 

“Can I see?” The prince’s fingers had shifted down, feathering at the edge of Yamaguchi’s shirt, and he hooked them under the hem when the baker nodded hesitantly, their noses brushing together. 

Yamaguchi swung one leg off Tsukki’s lap and gingerly sat down beside him on the bed, left shin folded under his right thigh. He crossed his arms over his front and reached down to grab the sides of his shirt, pulling it up and wincing as his muscles strained. Tsukki took one look at his back and went very still behind him, and Yamaguchi wondered just how bad it was. 

The prince’s blood was boiling in his veins at the sight of the diagonal purple-black line across Yamaguchi’s back, already bruising brilliantly claret with chartreuse and olive bleeding around the edges. He was just thankful that the guard hadn’t had enough space to gain momentum when he swung the chain, thankful that it was just a bad bruise and some internal bleeding rather than an open wound susceptible to infection, thankful that Yamaguchi wouldn’t have a scar marring his beautiful skin to remind him forever, not like Tsukki himself. 

Yamaguchi had been awfully quiet the entire time Tsukki was looking at his back. _He’s self-conscious,_ the prince realised with a soft sigh as he touched Yamaguchi’s shoulder lightly, giving a gentle squeeze when he heard no protest. He scooted back along the edge of the mattress, bending down to press a kiss to the start of the bruise. Yamaguchi tensed beneath him, and the prince kneaded into his shoulder until the baker relaxed under his touch. Tsukki lay a line of soft kisses all along the bruise before he shifted to the side and lay down, taking off his spectacles and folding them before stretching to put them on the nightstand. 

By the time Yamaguchi tugged his shirt back down and turned around, Tsukki was already spread out comfortably on the bed, hands tucked behind his head, ankles crossed casually with a smirk on his lips. “Hey sweetheart. Mind if I stay here tonight?”

Yamaguchi could tell that his blasé words and relaxed manner were a facade; he knew Tsukki well enough by now that he could see the troubled thoughts hidden in the depths of his golden eyes, swirling with all the gentleness of a hurricane. But he’d play along; he appreciated the prince’s attempt at cheering him up all the more. “May I ask why, Your Highness?” he snarked, a grin of his own curving his lips. 

“Is a night with my beautiful lover in my arms really too much to ask for?” Tsukki’s smirk softened into something almost pleading, apologetic. 

_Ah. Now this is real._ Yamaguchi knew that they were both thinking about what had happened the last time they shared a bed, despite the blush that glowed high on his cheeks. There was pain in the set of the prince’s mouth, and not just from what had happened in the dungeons; his smile quivered a little before he hitched it back up. 

Yamaguchi’s heart burned fiercely in his chest, and he shuffled forward to straddle Tsukki’s slim waist before flopping comfortably over him, nose buried in the nape of his neck. _Cedar and vanilla, as always._ He could hear Tsukki’s heartbeat in his ears, steady and strong, a soothing _thump-thump, thump-thump. C_ ombined with the prince’s warm, woodsy scent, the constant rhythm left Yamaguchi feeling drowsy and uninhibited and utterly loose-lipped, almost like he was drunk on Tsukki himself. 

The baker sighed heavily, his fingers curling into the prince’s loose nightshirt. “I thought… I thought that I was prepared, to face all this death. I thought that I’d… done enough mental preparation.” 

“Did you?” Tsukki tried to make his voice as gentle as possible, one hand coming up to weave into Yamaguchi’s hair and twine it around his fingers. 

Yamaguchi shook his head slightly, nosing at the skin of Tsukki’s collarbone. “I’ve been blaming you this whole time, when I should have been blaming myself, I— I’m sorry, I knew that you weren’t just trying to sleep with me—” At this point Tsukki tried to interrupt, but Yamaguchi powered on, his words growing steadily more frantic. “You took care of me, I _know_ , I just wanted someone to blame—” 

“Tadashi.” 

Yamaguchi cut himself off, and Tsukki could feel the panicked flutter of the baker’s pulse from where the other man’s chest was pressed against his. The prince felt something cold and wet on his shoulder, and his heart ached when Yamaguchi drew back to wipe the tears off his skin. He didn’t give him the chance; Tsukki immediately slid his hands over Yamaguchi’s back and under his thighs, squishing the baker back against him and earning him a yelp. “ _Tadashi._ Listen to me. This isn’t your fault, do you understand? You didn’t ki—” 

Yamaguchi sniffed hard, hands curled loosely to his chest. “ _No_. Don’t even try to sugarcoat it, because it _is_ my fault and nothing can change that.” 

Tsukki suddenly found it incredibly hard to swallow. “No, it’s not. They knew the risks. They chose to fight back against a system that treated them unfairly.” 

“But if I hadn’t rallied them then—” 

“Then they would still be suffering in silence. Didn’t you say that it’s better to live in the light? No matter what?”

Yamaguchi didn’t reply; he had buried his face into Tsukki’s neck, and it didn’t seem like he was coming out anytime soon. He clearly regretted saying anything at all, but they were too deep into the conversation to just let it go now. Tsukki gulped nervously; he was going to say something that would either get him punched, or put Yamaguchi at ease. Maybe both in that order. He was just acting on a wild hunch, a gut feeling. _But isn’t a gut feeling what brought me back to Tadashi’s bakery?_ “...Yachi’s death wasn’t your fault, and she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, either. Not even if everything _was_ your fault.”

Tsukki didn’t know what he expected; maybe he really _would_ get punched, or chased out, or maybe Yamaguchi would say, “How would you know what she wants?” But none of those things happened. Yamaguchi didn’t reply to him, but his left hand that had been clenching onto Tsukki’s nightshirt relaxed until it was splayed loosely across the prince’s chest. Tsukki exhaled softly, his left hand gently trailing up and down Yamaguchi’s back, fingers gently brushing against his spine. “Get some sleep, sweetheart. It’s been a long day. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yamaguchi’s only acknowledgement was a soft hum of assent, hooking his legs around Tsukki’s as the prince held him close. Yamaguchi’s bed was tiny and frankly not made for two people; it was cramped and hot and the mattress was lumpy, but Tsukki wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else. He fell asleep to the sound of Yamaguchi’s soft snores in his ear, to the steady rise and fall of his lover’s chest against him, to the pulse that beat strong and true in tandem with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehehehehe one more chapter of fluff to go before I hit y’all with more angst—


	11. When Neither of Them Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I told you that I love you  
> What would you do?
> 
> i.e., Suga is a (subtly) thirsty hoe and Daichi is a righteous, selfless idiot with an iron will, and they’re both whipped, oblivious dorks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To @faithireland, @aesthetic_clown, @Kiyomichan and @SidKozume: You four have been here since the beginning of this story and I may not know some of you in real life but I love y’all anyway :> Your constant stream of comments are what give me motivation to write, I swear the serotonin boosts I get when I read them are insane— This chapter’s for you!

Sleep, ever the flighty temptress, flitted just out of Suga’s grasp, taunting him with the prospect of a good night of rest that he couldn’t obtain. He’d been toeing the fine line in-between consciousness and unconsciousness for hours, his blinks growing slow and syrupy and his breathing mellowing out, but he just couldn’t fall asleep. Even though he was perfectly aware of what had happened earlier in the night and the horrible, hollow emptiness in Tsukki’s eyes, he wasn’t overly concerned; he trusted Yamaguchi to help the prince settle back into his own skin. Over the course of a few months, Suga had grown incredibly fond of the baker, especially since he was the only one who could keep Tsukki in line. Besides, everything was still cloaked with an air of detachment; nothing about their current state of affairs seemed real. 

As he squirmed around on the straw-stuffed mattress and buried his head into the thin, floppy pillow, wrapping and tucking the cotton sheets tighter around himself with a huff, Suga could almost convince himself that it all wasn’t real if he closed his eyes. He could convince himself that the mattress was stuffed with goose feathers and not spiky straw that stabbed his ass at the most random times, he could pretend that the pillow was plush and fluffed beneath his face; he could pretend that there was a grand, luxurious quilt draped over his lean form, his bare skin glowing invitingly as he lured that night’s unsuspecting lover into his bed with his seductive wiles. Suga snorted. There was only one man he wanted in his bed, and that man was so obstinately _righteous_ it was somehow both frustrating and incredibly attractive at the same time. 

Sawamura Daichi was an enigma. Stern yet friendly, strong yet tender, cruel yet kind. A perfect balance of opposites. Daichi had always been a leader; it may as well have been written into the codes of his soul. A swirl of heat rose low in Suga’s stomach, and it took him a moment to confirm that he wasn’t _that_ kind of hungry (well, maybe he was, but _just_ a little. A totally insignificant amount, really. He absolutely wasn’t reminiscing over how strong Daichi’s thighs looked, how strong they had _felt_ under him that one time Kiyoko had accidentally-on-purpose given him a shove… Whatever could have possibly given you that idea?); his body genuinely wanted food. The concrete floor was cold under the pads of his toes as he carefully flipped the blankets aside and slid off the bed, pulling his arms straight above his head with a quiet yawn and relishing in the stretch of his back.

Suga had a lot on his mind on the way down the staircase; the rebellion, his broken wrist that was currently wrapped tight in a stretchy cloth bandage, Daichi’s thighs, the way that Daichi had sought him out as soon as he had stepped into the warehouse, eyes skipping across everyone until they finally rested on him, their gazes locking like a pair of magnets, the way that the five who went to save Noya were splattered with at least a little bit of blood, Noya himself, the entire goddamn rebellion predicament, did he mention Daichi’s thighs? 

So it wasn’t that unexpected for Suga to walk into the pantry expecting it to be empty, only to literally levitate off the floor in shock with a muffled shriek when he found a familiar dark-haired, brown-eyed captain already leaning against the wooden table, a clay mug cupped between his large hands. Daichi laughed a little, and Suga melted as the deep, genuine sound soaked into his eardrums, rich and warm like melted chocolate. 

“Ah, Daichi-san. Trouble sleeping, too?” Suga collected himself quickly, striding over to the kettle on the tabletop. It was still marginally filled with hot water; Daichi must have boiled it in the oven to make whatever was in his mug. 

“Mmm,” Daichi hummed tiredly, taking a sip of his drink. “How are you feeling, Suga?” 

The silver-haired man had to think about it for a brief moment, his copper eyes narrowing pensively before he scrunched up his nose and huffed, “ _Bleh_.” That wonderfully deep chuckle resonated through the pantry again, wrapping Suga in a comforting blanket of warmth and security. He walked to the shelf on the wall, picking up a clay mug of his own before starting to pour water into it. “What are you drinking? 

Daichi’s lips quirked up into a small smirk. “Honey water.” 

Suga put the kettle down, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Honey water.” 

“...With a splash of whiskey.”

Suga rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he pushed away from the table, going back to the shelf to grab the tall glass bottles of honey and golden-dark whiskey. Daichi put his own mug down as Suga set them down on the table, the dark-haired man pulling the cork from the mouth of the bottle of honey and drizzling a good amount into the mug. Suga watched as he recorked the honey and uncorked the whiskey, letting a rather generous amount splash into the water before producing a spoon seemingly out of nowhere and giving the concoction a stir. 

Daichi passed Suga the mug, and he lifted it to his lips with a small ‘cheers’. The liquid was smooth on his tongue; it must have been a sweet whiskey and not a dry one, and the honey quelled almost all of the burn as it slid down his throat. It was… good. Reminded him of Daichi, in a way. Strong, sometimes harsh, but definitely warm and fortifying and with a sweetness to take off the edge. Suga could feel a flush rise to his cheeks, a warm burning sensation that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

He blamed it on the whiskey. 

They hadn’t had the chance to do something like this in a long time, and Suga had forgotten how comforting Daichi’s presence could be. Even now, as they stood in silence with warm watered-down whiskey and honey in their hands, Suga felt _safe._ Daichi had always been a touchstone for all of his friends, the stable rock of the group, steady and unwavering. Suga was perfectly content with not saying anything at all, satisfied with sipping his drink quietly, but it was the captain who broke the silence. 

“Tsukishima-kun is so different now,” he mused, running his tongue over his upper teeth. “Remember how he used to be?” 

Suga laughed softly, a pretty, lilting thing in the tangible silence of the night, the faint buzzing of cicadas merely background noise. “I still remember the day he burned a book to ashes in the library’s fireplace because the author’s writing ‘wasn’t worth his time’.” His chest warmed at the thought of how Tsukki acted around Yamaguchi, caring and tender in a way the sage had never seen before. His heart ached for the same affection, specifically from a certain someone… maybe the whiskey was stronger than he had thought. “Love can really change a person, huh?”

Daichi didn’t need any elaboration, not when he saw the way Tsukki softened around Yamaguchi too. “Indeed. What about you, Suga-san? Got anybody you love?” 

_If only you knew._ “Yeah. But I don’t think he loves me back.” Suga took another sip of his drink, more of a gulp, really. “If he did… He would have made his move years ago.” 

Daichi wasn’t surprised. He had known Suga for long enough to know that the sage liked guys; he himself liked both men and women. “He must be a fool, then.”

Suga laughed again with both hands cradling his mug, favouring his injured wrist. “And you, Daichi-san? Anyone special yet? I still remember the way you used to pine over that handmaiden, what was her name… Ah, Michimiya.” He shot the captain a catlike grin, but his face felt stiff, the smile forced. 

Daichi chuckled, although it sounded a little sad, and Suga didn’t miss his slight wince and the way his free hand moved to rest where the bandages were wrapped tight around his torso under his loose shirt. “I can’t, Suga. As captain of the guard, you know that I’m in dangerous situations all the time. If the unspeakable were to happen to me…” He shook his head slightly, taking a gulp of his drink and swallowing hard, tilting his head back and letting his eyes slide shut. “I couldn't do that to him.”

_...Him?_

“He deserves a stable lifestyle, someone who he doesn’t constantly have to worry about.” 

Suga’s heart sped up, going erratic inside his chest that was filled with a fuzzy warmth; whether from the whiskey or Proximity to Daichi™, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. _What if I still have a chance?_ He cleared his throat cautiously. “Daichi-san… Why did you jump in front of me?” Again, no explanation was needed; they both knew what Suga was talking about, and Daichi let a small sigh slip past his lips. After all, he had gotten his stomach wound in the first place because a royal guard had just been about to run Suga through with his sword before Daichi jumped in front of him and took the blow instead. 

“It’s my duty to protect, isn’t it?” he said quietly, a wan smile on his lips. as he looked out of the pantry window, his gaze settling over the inky sea.

“Well… That person could still be worrying about you, you know.” _WhatamIdoingwhatamIdoingwhatamIdoing—_ “Just because you aren’t in a relationship doesn’t mean that they don’t care about you; they might have feelings for you too.” Suga was _definitely_ sure that the whiskey was stronger than he had thought. “All of our lives have been upended and turned inside out, and I honestly don’t think things could get any more unstable than this,” he peeled one hand from his mug to tap the wooden table behind him, “touch wood, though. My point is, you might not get another shot. So don't you think you should take it if you can?”

Suga knew the moment he’d pushed too far when Daichi’s face turned serious, all traces of his previous good mood nowhere to be seen. He tried to backtrack, to apologize somehow, but Daichi cut him off before he could start stammering.

“Goodnight, Suga. I’ll see you tomorrow.” The captain drained his mug and set it down into the small wooden bucket of dirty dishes. With a quick, close-lipped smile over his shoulder, he had disappeared out of the pantry, leaving Suga alone to bitterly curse his low alcohol tolerance. 

The floor seemed even colder than before as Suga climbed back up the stairs, a few minutes after Daichi had left. When he climbed into bed, the emptiness in his stomach had nothing to do with the fact that he didn’t actually eat anything. _This is all because of Daichi and his stupidly good diluted honey whiskey._ The sage fell asleep with his own arms wrapped around his middle, wishing sadly that those were Daichi’s arms around instead, protecting him, shielding him from the horrors of the world. 

Back in his room, Daichi was sitting on the bed with his face buried in his hands. He felt absolutely horrible for making Suga upset and worried that he’d said something wrong, but he had to remove himself from the situation; he’d accepted the fact that Suga would never be his. Suga was beautiful, perfect, _unattainable_. The thought of actually being with him after learning to live without him for so long was… terrifying. His brains had been scrambled all night; all he could think about when they were in the dungeons was Suga, Suga, Suga. His ethereal silver hair, luminous copper eyes that glowed gold in the right lighting, whether or not the sage was okay back at the warehouse even though he knew that he was being irrational and that he didn’t have any logical reason to worry. Suga had been perfectly safe back at the warehouse with the others, he _knew_ that, but he couldn’t help but feel protective, which was ridiculous considering the fact that Suga wasn’t even _his_. 

  
Daichi groaned heavily into his palms. He wanted nothing more than to be the one who was given the privilege to tuck Suga into bed at night, to hold him close while he slept, to soothe his troubled mind and banish his worries and doubts. _But how could I take my shot when you deserve so much more than what I could ever give you? When you deserve so much more than me?_ _I want to make you feel as beautiful as you are, Koushi. But what if I can’t?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the calm before the fucking storm— brace yourselves for some serious drama in the next chapter!! P.S. Kagehina’s coming in hot ;)


	12. Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing with fire is dangerous.  
> They should have known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FERAL ASAHI IS HERE WHEEEEEEE  
> Oh and yes have some emotionally constipated Kageyama and will ya look at that, Daichi finally found his balls.

Kageyama unconsciously brought the back of his hand up to rub at his sweat-slicked forehead. He’d just been having the most peaceful dream; he was at a beach somewhere, gulls cawing distantly and gliding overhead, sunlight shimmering off the ocean in glimmering, wavering specks. He stood calf-deep in waves that sloshed gently around his legs, his toes buried in dense, fine sand, watching a short-haired figure in the distance.

The other boy splashed about in the water, throwing it up into the air and watching in wonder as it fell back down around him in a shower of droplets, catching and refracting the fading light of a sunset that made the sky bleed pink, orange and blue like a child’s watercolour painting. His carefree laughter reached Kageyama’s ears, and the guard felt a warm buzz of fondness and something else he couldn’t place swell up in his chest. Was that boy’s hair… orange? No, it must have been a trick of the light… 

But the ocean wasn’t supposed to feel like it was slowly boiling him alive and winnowing away at his skin. The sea breeze was supposed to be cool, not a suffocating, sweltering heat that was pressing down on him from all directions, scalding the flesh from his bones until he was nothing but a pile of ashes that blew across the sand. Kageyama peeled open his eyes.

All he saw was fire.

His entire room was an inferno. Not that there was much in it to begin with, but orange-yellow flames were licking up the concrete walls and the sides of his bed, his mattress already starting to go up in embers. The fire raged viciously, and his nightshirt was soaked through with sweat and sticking uncomfortably to his body like a second skin. He yelped as a tongue of flame grazed the bare sole of his foot, drawing his legs towards his body reflexively; he tried to blink the sweat out of his eyes and stop panicking before he got himself killed. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, his thoughts immediately turned to Hinata; they’d been doing that for a while now, the orange-haired guard popping up in his mind randomly, and for once he didn’t fight it. _If that idiot’s dead… No. Don’t think about that, get out of here first. You can’t worry about him if you’re dead._

Kageyama sucked in a deep breath and immediately regretted it as he gagged; his room was filled with smoke, and he’d just taken in a whole choking lungful. _C’mon, c’mon, you’re a guard! You’ve trained for situations like these!_ His vision wavered, the room swimming in and out of focus as his eyes began to water. He nearly tipped his entire water basin over the side of his nightstand when he slapped around blindly for the wet washcloth inside, the bottom half of the wooden chest-of-drawers already charred and blackened.

Haphazardly slapping the wet cloth over his mouth and nose, Kageyama ignored the burn as he accidentally snorted some water up his nasal passage; it was nothing compared to the pain he would get from actual burns. He shoved his feet into the leather boots next to his bed, rather surprised that they were still relatively unscorched as he slipped off his mattress and crouched low to the ground. 

Kageyama let his eyes flutter closed, focusing on the sound of his breathing, harsh and heavy even while muffled by the wet cloth. He knew that he was wasting precious time, that a few mere seconds could mean the difference between life and death, but he needed to take a moment to centre himself and bring his training to the forefront of his mind, to let the neural pathways he had formed through countless hours of drills and training take over and override the panic that was boiling through his veins. His eyes had sealed shut from stale tears, but when Kageyama forced them open, he could see. They were stinging and watering something fierce, but he could see. 

He saw the spots where the fire was weakest, his mind picking out the safest places for him to step in order to escape. Crouching even lower into a squat, Kageyama felt his muscles shift and flex beneath his skin, already warm and limber. After a moment more of mental preparation, he pushed away from the bed frame and skittered across the floor, hopping from spot to spot mostly out of instinct, his body bent at the waist at an awkward angle to avoid the haze of smoke that had accumulated beneath his ceiling. He hissed as he felt the hot brush of flame against his leg, a flash of pain stinging up the length of his calf, the crackling in his ears growing louder with each passing moment.

Finally, the door was right there, it was _right there_ — He grabbed the burning-hot iron knocker that served as a handle and pulled with all his might, digging his heels into the ground and leaning back. 

It was a mistake.

Outside of his room, the fire was a hundred times stronger, more vicious, more uncontrolled, more _deadly_. If he thought that it was hot before, it was nothing compared to this; Kageyama was sure that his skin and flesh and bones were melting and fusing together, melting into a puddle on the concrete floor. Flames roared in his face and forced him to step back, and he immediately tried to shove them out and shut the door, but a muscled, ash-speckled arm grabbed the collar of his sweat-soaked shirt and dragged him into the hallway.

“—ageyama! Kageyama! Can you hear me? Wake up!” Hands were on his shoulders, trying to shake him out of his daze. Someone was yelling his name, weren’t they? A face swam into focus, dark hair dusted with soot and dark eyes swathed with a strange sort of determined terror. “We need to get out of here!” 

_Daichi-san?_ Kageyama couldn’t hear himself talking. His heartbeat was the only thing that rang through his ears, but he was pretty sure that he said something along the lines of, “The others?”

Daichi yanked on his arm. “They’re fine, we need to go!” 

Kageyama mumbled something incomprehensible through the cloth over his mouth, the heat making him a little delirious.

“What?”

“H-Hinata. I need to—” The raven-haired guard stumbled towards Hinata’s bedroom, only to stagger back as he was slammed by a wave of suffocating heat. The entire opposite row of rooms lining the wall and facing the sea had been swallowed up by flames. Hinata, Yamaguchi, Suga, Kiyoko and Nishinoya’s rooms were already burnt to ashes and cinders, but Kageyama wouldn’t give up, he couldn’t, not when Hinata was in there, not until Hinata was safe—

“—o! No, you _idiot_! We need to go, they’re—” 

Kageyama felt Daichi grab his upper arms and yank him back, but he kept struggling, kept trying to push through the flames because _he needed Hinata to be okay._ He knew that he was screaming something, but he didn’t know what anymore; he didn’t care, either. He had dropped his cloth somewhere in the scuffle, and the thick, cloying smoke was taking up residence in his chest, filling every crevice and cell until Kageyama’s entire body felt like smoke and ash, until he felt like he would crumble at the slightest touch. He only stopped fighting when his captain swung him around and slapped him across the face, _hard_. 

“Kageyama! Wake the fuck up, _they aren’t in there!_ ”

The side of Kageyama’s face throbbed, but he barely noticed it.

_They aren’t in there._

_They aren’t in there._

_Shouyou isn’t in there._

_Wait… Shouyou?_ Kageyama didn’t have any time to process his mental use of Hinata’s given name before Daichi was shoving him down a flight of stairs with two strong palms to the small of his back, his feet tripping over each other as he moved in jerky fits and starts, the both of them nearly blind and moving by memory in the midst of all the flame and smoke and carnage. 

When they finally sprinted out of the warehouse, bleary-eyed, exhausted and smeared with dirt, Kageyama swore that he would never take fresh air for granted again. He fell heavily onto his hands and knees and the others raced towards them, Daichi doubled over beside him as they hacked the smoke out of their lungs and replaced it with deep breaths of bracing sea air. The guard rolled over onto his back with a small _ugh_ , his knees bent towards the dark sky.

_It must be the middle of the night,_ he thought, startled by the surprising clarity and coherency of his thoughts. He struggled upright and folded his forearms horizontally over his knees. Tsukki, Asahi, Ennoshita, Narita, Kinoshita and Tanaka all seemed to be in the same condition as he and Daichi; they were all winded and taking deep gulps of fresh air, each in various states of undress and disarray. Kageyama tried to speak, but his voice was less than a whisper; all that screaming and the smoke hadn’t done his throat any good. 

He gratefully accepted the waterskin that Narita offered, taking a few small sips before passing it to an exhausted Daichi, who was flopped down on the ground too. Kageyama cleared his throat and tried again. “Who sold us out?!” he scowled, his voice scratchy as he rounded on Tsukki. The prince nearly flinched at the ferocity of his expression, but Kageyama had every right to be suspicious of him. After all, it had been Tsukki who had snitched to the royals before, hadn’t it? _Who’s to say he wouldn’t do it again?_

Surprisingly, it was Tanaka who rebuked him. “ _We don’t have time for this, Kageyama!”_ he huffed, lips curling into a ferocious sneer that promised painful vengeance. “Anyone could have seen us and tracked us back. Right now, our friends need our help.” Tanaka and Tsukki had been on rocky terms since they’d met and even more so after Tsukki had leaked their plans, but it appeared that his concern outweighed his animosity for the prince at the moment. 

“They’re trying to break us down, aren’t they?” Suga murmured shakily, and out of the corner of his eye, Kageyama saw Daichi lift a hand towards the sage before forcing it back to his side. 

_What’s that all about?_

“The guards could have taken all of us, but they only took everyone who was sleeping in a bedroom that was facing the sea.” Kageyama could see Suga slipping into his role as a tutor and sage, using his expertise to stabilise himself. “That suggests that they scaled the side of the warehouse, then entered and exited through the windows before setting the fire. The fact that they deliberately left us here…” He didn’t need to finish his sentence; they were being toyed with, like a cat played with a mouse they were intending to have for dinner, just because they were bored. 

They all flinched as the sound of a ship’s horn rang through the air, low and rich and brassy as they all turned to face the sea. The port was along the coastline, not far from the warehouse, and Kageyama had to wrestle down the squiggly coil of panic that sprung up low in his gut when he caught sight of a huge carrack ship. “They’re sailing the prisoners out for Trading Day,” he whispered in horror, his lips slightly parted in shock.

Ennoshita blanched, his entire body freezing in place as his eyes darted around nervously. “But they’re only supposed to sail in a week! There were so little prisoners this time around, wh—”

“If they’re sailing out now, the only reason would be to get the prisoners away from us. Which means that Noya, Yamaguchi, Kiyoko, Suga and Hinata are on that ship,” Narita muttered darkly, his brows furrowed. 

“But how can we be sure?” Asahi very nearly squawked as he kneaded at the back of his neck, a nervous tic he had that surfaced when he was feeling especially anxious or embarrassed. “How do we know that they weren’t trapped in the—”

“Did you smell anything other than woodsmoke?” Kinoshita interrupted, and understanding bloomed across all of their faces, tinged with relief. On the day that they had stormed the castle, the air had been tainted with the acrid reek of burning flesh, which was fortunately absent at the moment. The horn sounded again, but this time they didn’t flinch. This time it was a war cry, a summoning; if the royals wanted a fight… then they sure as hell would get one.

Eight shadows rippled along the coastline, running in single file along the edge of the cliffs down to the harbour. Kageyama’s eyes stung from the salty wind that lashed against his face, blowing his hair backwards over his skull and drying the sweat that had been dripping from his fringe. It wasn’t easy to run downhill; more often than not, they were sliding on the ground and not running, just trying not to trip over something and fall off the cliffside to their deaths.

A resounding crack of thunder boomed from behind them, and Kageyama prayed that it wouldn’t rain; muddy ground would just make things harder. The docks finally came into sight, and Kageyama could feel something shift around him, the small sense of everybody preparing themselves as they sprinted towards the carrack that was slowly starting to pull away from the shore.

They all sped up into a full-out sprint, feet thundering across the wooden planks of the dock. Kageyama’s body burned; his arms were tired of pumping, his core and thighs sore, his calves screaming for a moment of rest. But he didn’t stop. And none of the others did, either. “Faster!” Daichi hissed from somewhere not far behind him, and the raven-haired guard somehow found the energy to put on another burst of speed. 

“The anchor—” Kageyama wheezed, fighting the tight, burning pain from the stitch in his side. “Grab the anchor!” He skittered and slowed down to hook his hands and feet into one of the huge metal links of the tarnished iron chain, letting it bring him upwards as it was pulled into the belly of the massive ship. He looked back down and allowed himself a minuscule sigh of relief. All eight of them were hanging off the chain, with Ennoshita just barely managing to grab onto the arm of the anchor before he was pulled up by Tsukki. 

One by one, they all scrambled quietly over the side of the ship and crouched down low. The deck was filled with people, prisoners all linked together with one long chain that had been looped through the metal cuffs around all their wrists, rough-woven burlap sacks tugged over their heads. Kageyama spotted Hinata almost instantly; he had seen the other man enough times in his dreams that he’d be able to recognise the orange-haired guard by his shadow. The raven-haired guard could only hope that those were Suga, Noya, Yamaguchi and Kiyoko with him, and Kageyama saw Daichi signalling them to gather around. He pointed to Asahi, Ennoshita and Narita, and then cocked two fingers to the prisoners, before he pointed to Kageyama, Tanaka, Kinoshita and himself and waved a hand in the general direction of the royal guards that were scattered among the prisoners. 

His battle plan was apparent; he wanted Asahi, Ennoshita and Narita to help free the prisoners, and he, Kageyama, Tanaka and Kinoshita would take out the guards as stealthily as they could. They were just about to split up and get to their respective tasks when Tanaka’s nose scrunched up, his eyes going wide and mouth slowly dropping open. All eight of them froze, turning back just in time to see Tanaka let loose an explosive sneeze.

Every pair of eyes on deck snapped to them.

“Well, well, well… What do we have here?” a tall, broad guard muttered with a nasty grin on his face, his greying hair shining an oily yellow under the lights of the oil lamps. “Her Majesty said that you’d be joining the party. Let’s play, shall we?” 

_Oh no._ Kageyama barely had time to react before approximately twenty guards were storming towards them, the _ssssssching_ of broadswords being drawn from their scabbards ringing in his ears. 

Asahi immediately hopped to the side and ducked as a tall, pale guard swung at him with a small hatchet. He dodged the blow and gave the guard a solid shove to the back, not bothering to look back at him. He plunged straight through the fray, weaving his way around people locked in combat; thankfully, none of the guards seemed free enough to pay any attention to him. He skidded to a halt in front of Noya, gripping the top of his burlap sack and ripping it off before doing the same for Suga, Kiyoko and Hinata. Ignoring their shocked gazes, the priest’s hands came up to tug futilely at the chains binding the smaller man’s wrists, fingers dancing over the metal links. He faltered, however, when he saw the bright, exhilarated grin adorning Noya’s face, his honey eyes glowing in the dim lighting; even amid all this chaos, Noya was _smiling_ , because of _him_. It made him feel warm all over even as the cold sea air whipped across his skin and stiffened his fingers, but it couldn’t stop him from flashing Noya a small, relieved smile of his own.

Nothing could have made that tiny smile leave Asahi’s lips. Nothing except maybe the way that Noya’s expression suddenly morphed from elation and happiness into cold terror in the span of a second, a shrill warning on his lips. But he was too late; Asahi felt arms wrapped in corded muscle worm their way around his neck. 

“No!” Noya cried out in despair as the arm around his neck tightened even as he clawed at it, dark spots already starting to swim across his vision. “Asahi-san, no—” The arm tightened even more and Asahi tried to dig his nails in, but his assailant only hissed, increasing the pressure on the fragile rings of cartilage that made up Asahi’s trachea. The priest’s lungs were burning like he’d swallowed embers and they had set him aflame from the inside; he couldn’t breathe, and his eyelids were getting awfully heavy…

Everything took on a slow, hazy quality, like he was drifting underwater. “NO!” he heard Noya scream, his voice raw with anguish and worry, before a rather loud smack and a few muffled words followed. As Asahi slumped back against the guard behind him and peered through his blurry eyes, he could see the outline of a figure slumped to the ground and clutching his cheek, a guard dragging them up by the front of their shirt and yelling in their face. 

A spark of anger flared in his gut, a white-hot ember that slowly caught and spread until rage was boiling fast and steady through his veins. As his vision sharpened into focus, familiar words floated to mind; _If you can’t win, change the rules,_ his father had always told him, the old priest’s favourite saying muttered over a chessboard as he and a young Asahi sat next to the royal library’s fireplace, each pitting their wits against the other’s. _Change the rules._ Asahi would have found a way to accept his fate if the guards had taken him. They could have lashed him, tortured him, defrocked him, and he would have bared it with his head held high and his shoulders thrown back, no matter how much they would surely make him bleed. But nobody was allowed to hurt Noya. _Nobody._

_Change the rules._

He allowed himself to go slack in the guard’s grip, letting his eyelids flutter shut and slumping heavily against the burly man behind him. The guard naturally loosed the forearm that he had been using to crush Asahi’s throat; what he didn’t expect was for the priest to wrench out of his grip and spin around before grabbing a handful of his black hair in a painfully tight fist. Asahi gave himself a moment to glare deep into terrified grey eyes before he slammed his forehead down. 

The guard staggered backwards, clapping callused hands over a nose that was now spurting blood like a broken faucet. Asahi swung a fist back, and the other man was knocked out cold on the wooden deck with one well-placed blow to the jaw. The priest whipped around just in time to see the other guard, a blond-haired, blue-eyed man who would have been handsome if not for the twisted scar that carved across his face, swing his leg back and deliver a vicious kick to Noya’s stomach, the shorter man letting out a weak cry as something cracked loudly and he curled up on his side. And Asahi _snapped._

He was barely aware of himself reaching beneath the collar of his cotton shirt, fingers scrabbling for the string of rosary beads that his father had gifted to him, sacred olive wood strung onto spider silk that he’d worn around his neck since he turned thirteen. He was half-blind with pure fury as he yanked the necklace over his head, his face twisted into a snarl. He had just enough time to mutter a quick _forgive me, father_ under his breath before he stretched the string of beads between his fists and wrapped it tight around the blond guard’s neck, twisting until it snapped like a twig. The man had never seen it coming; he fell to the floor, blue eyes glassy like marbles as the light faded out of them, his neck canted to the side at an unnatural angle. Asahi couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed. His lip merely curled up into a sneer before he knelt down to scoop a shuddering Noya into his arms. 

His heart squeezed in his chest as Noya let out a small whimper, pressing his face into the priest’s solid shoulder. For once, Asahi was grateful for the broad, imposing physique that he’d inherited from his father; it made carrying the man he loved so much easier. 

“A-Asahi-san.” Noya’s voice was just a pained whisper in his ear, no more and no less. 

“Yes, Yuu?”

Noya swallowed hard, straining upwards to ensure that his words were heard, fighting through the pain of what was most likely multiple broken ribs. “ _Ruin them._ ” 

Asahi set Noya down to lean against Suga, pressing soft lips to his forehead in an unbelievably gentle kiss, considering he’d just killed a man. He brushed away the tears that were clinging to Noya’s lash line, bringing his fingers down to tenderly cup the other man’s jaw. “For you… For you, _I’d ruin myself._ ”

Asahi felt the blood thrumming beneath his skin as he strode back into the fray, his pulse steady and sure, the drumbeat in his ears a rhythm that timed his movements. All he could think about was Noya crying out in pain on the floor, a hand over his cheek, curled into a ball to protect his ribs; those scenes played over and over in his head like a broken record, echoing every time he wrapped his beads around another guard’s neck and snapped it with brute strength. He was blazing with rage, _incandescent_ , and it wasn’t long before the last of the guards were dead on the ground, all of their necks broken in half. “Tanaka!” he roared, reaching out a hand for an axe, which was passed to him rather meekly. He raised it and grabbed the chain linking all the prisoners together, breaking through it in three strikes; if everybody hadn’t realised just how deadly he could be yet, then this certainly proved it. 

The deck was a mess of people, the sound of the heavy chain slinking through metal hoops and coiling on the ground only adding to the cacophony. “Meet at the forecastle!” Asahi heard Daichi yell faintly, and he started struggling his way through the throng of people. He didn’t even feel guilty when he laid eyes on a dead guard; if he hadn’t killed them, they would have killed someone else, and he couldn’t risk that. It was worth it. Noya was worth it. 

When he reached the forecastle, everybody else was already waiting for him. Yamaguchi and the others must have gotten hold of the keys to their shackles, because their wrists were bare. Suga had Noya hefted in his arms in a princess carry, and Narita immediately hurried towards them as everybody else crowded around. Noya wheezed weakly as he was set down onto the wooden floor, and Narita had barely glanced at him for a second before he murmured, “Broken ribs. Two on the right, nothing serious.”

“His right or our right?” Hinata blurted before clapping two hands over his mouth in abject horror, but Narita only chuckled. 

“Our right, his left. He’ll be fine.” 

Asahi could feel all of them breathe a collective sigh of relief. Nobody else seemed to have any major injuries, only nicks and scratches here and there. He looked to the side when he felt a warm palm land on his right shoulder. Tsukki was there, adjusting his glasses with his other hand. “Do you… Are you alright?” he asked quietly, his voice soft and concerned.  
Asahi had to think about it. He might have killed those guards in a fit of rage, yes, but he didn’t draw out their deaths for longer than he had to. It had to be done, although that didn’t make it justifiable. So he settled for asking the prince, “Did you regret it?” 

Tsukki looked away briefly, his pale brows furrowing together, and the priest knew that he was recalling the night when he’d made his first kills. “No. It had to be done,” he muttered, echoing Asahi’s thoughts. 

They were interrupted when a young man ran up to them. “There’s no-one belowdecks, sir,” he gasped to Daichi, a little out of breath; the captain must have asked him to go into the belly of the boat to check, just in case. Two dark moles stood out starkly above his right eyebrow against his pale skin, and his dark curls swayed slightly in the wind.

“Good. Now, could you—” 

“Tell everyone to abandon ship?” The man looked younger when he smiled, Asahi realised; he barely looked older than they were, twenty-two at the very most. 

Daichi grinned slyly. “You would make a fine soldier.” 

All they heard was the man’s soft chuckle before he raced off, climbing up the ropes of the mizzenmast like a monkey. Barely a few seconds later, he was yelling for everybody to jump into the water and swim back to shore; it would be too much of a hassle to turn the ship around, especially when they had barely sailed away from land. With Salis being a coastal kingdom, everybody was required to learn to swim at an early age, and nobody had any qualms about plunging straight into the icy, inky water; sharks never gathered this near the coast. 

The thirteen of them watched as all the prisoners jumped overboard one by one, and when the boat was empty they jumped too, with Asahi carrying Noya on his back. Kageyama made sure that everybody was off the boat before he strode to the mizzenmast and unscrewed one of the oil lamps attached to it. Smashing the lamp against the ground and watching the oil spread before it caught fire, Kageyama tipped himself into the ocean and didn’t look back. 

His body tensed as it plunged into icy cold, the salt in the water suddenly making him painfully aware of the multitude of cuts he had all over his body. The slice across his bicep, that nick on his calf… They all stung ferociously, but he powered on, forcing his limbs to move and propel him through the water. If he stayed still for too long his muscles would lock up from the cold, and that was never a good thing, even with so many people around him. 

Somehow, they all managed to struggle back to the docks even when they were nearly blind and frozen, soaked in saltwater. When Kageyama hooked his fingers over the slick edge of the wooden platform, his fingers were nearly blue from cold. He groaned as he swung a leg up to hook his foot over, his waterlogged breeches weighing him down like sandbags. Rolling himself onto his back, Kageyama’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, and he caught sight of a flash of auburn hair, darkened with water. It wasn’t long before Hinata’s face appeared above him, water dripping from his hair, eyes the colour of tilled earth after a rainstorm staring straight down into his own. “You alive, idiot?” 

That _voice_. He’d found it annoying, once, but that was a different time, before an orange-haired gremlin had decided to sink its claws into his heart and refuse to let go. In a moment of clarity, Kageyama suddenly realised what he had been screaming back at the warehouse, when he’d thought that Hinata was trapped in the fire. One word, over and over; a name, _Hinata’s_ name. _Shouyou, Shouyou, Shouyou_ , again and again and again, a plea, a prayer, a call until his voice was gone and the syllables were burned into his throat as he screamed out for his teammate, his partner, his friend, his— 

His train of thought was cut off. His brain short-circuited as Hinata fell onto his chest with a soft sob, winding trembling fingers into Kageyama’s wet hair. “I was so worried,” he gasped, pressing his forehead against the taller guard’s collarbone. They were both soaked to the fucking bone and shivering from the cold but Hinata still felt warm to him, a small flame that he tucked close to his chest, his own personal space heater. _Mine and nobody else’s,_ Kageyama thought, as he slid his arms over Hinata’s back and pressed them close. 

Not far away, Daichi reached for Suga’s face, the sage’s wet cheekbone shimmering under the harbour lights. Suga seemed to be in a daze, but he snapped out of it when the captain wound an arm around his waist and tugged him into his lap. “W-Wait— Daichi-san, what are you—” 

“Taking my shot.”

Suga’s futile protest was silenced when Daichi pressed their lips together, and he gasped when he felt a soft, hot pressure at the seam of his lips. Daichi took the opportunity and licked into his mouth, hands sliding to the back of Suga’s head as the sage’s hands rested on his shoulders. Suga lost himself in the intoxicating press of the captain’s lips, the warm solidness of the body beneath his, thick fingers tugging at his hair and—

They broke apart with flushed cheeks as Kinoshita wolf-whistled from where he was standing with Narita and Ennoshita. “Damn, I feel single,” he sighed, earning chuckles from everyone. 

_I’m guessing we weren’t the only ones... celebrating,_ Suga mused, looking around; the prisoners were still too busy trying to comprehend the fact that they were free, but Tanaka had his arms wrapped around Kiyoko, Noya’s face was tucked into the crook of Asahi’s neck, and Yamaguchi was shivering like a leaf with his back pressed to Tsukki’s chest as the prince raked his soaked bangs away from his eyes. A cold drop of water rolled down the back of Suga’s neck, reminding him of their current soaked state; but before he could protest, Daichi had pulled him in again, seating the sage snugly in his lap. 

“I’m sure that someone will be able to get us fresh clothes and towels,” the captain muttered in his ear, lips just barely grazing the sensitive shell and sending another shudder down his spine. “For now, just rest, Koushi. I’ve got you.” 

Hot and cold warred within him. Ever since he’d recognised his own feelings, Suga had always felt like a livewire beneath Daichi’s touch, his body coming alive as the captain’s fingers left what felt like electric starbursts across his skin. His clothes were still dripping seawater onto the docks, but the warmth of Daichi’s body curled protectively around him won out. _Maybe just a little nap won’t hurt…_ It seemed that sleep had finally come within his grasp as he fell into unconsciousness, tucked tight against Daichi’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... I wonder who else will be joining the rebellion...


	13. Wherever the Wind Takes Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where would you go  
> If you were free  
> With the world at your fingertips  
> The wind in your hair  
> And the person you love by your side?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m really proud of this chapter ahhhhhsjdbjdbdjd I love it so much and I hope you will too :)

Tsukki raised a fist and knocked on the wooden front door of somebody’s home, keeping an eye out for any royal guards. It was still dark out, and the oil lamps flickered as a wind blew through the street. It wasn’t long before a woman appeared at the door; the widowed seamstress with two daughters, the one who had lost her husband to the royal guards several years ago when he had been taken to become a slave. She looked bleary and exhausted, but she straightened her spine when she saw who was on her doorstep.

“Get to the field in front of the castle as fast as you can. We’re going to attack. Spread the word,” Tsukki muttered, giving her a brief nod before he was off with a swish of his dark cloak.

*

The rebellion had decided to spend the rest of the night waking everybody in the city and preparing them to attack at sunrise because taking Noya, Hinata, Suga and Kiyoko was a direct attack, and it meant all-out war. Yamaguchi’s breath was steady as he surveyed the people gathered before him; men and women, young and old, hefting pitchforks and torches and skillets and knives and whatever they had to defend themselves. But his hands were shaking. He was scared; scared of what could happen, scared of what he had to lose, _who_ he had to lose. 

Yamaguchi jumped when he felt someone’s fingertips pressing into his palm, sliding until their fingers interlocked. _Tsukki._ The prince was already waiting when Yamaguchi turned his head, golden eyes warm and comforting. 

“We’re in this together,” Tsukki murmured, gripping his baker’s hand tighter. “Wherever you go, I go.” The crowd was getting restless; Yamaguchi didn’t really care. Not when Tsukki was looking at him like he was the most important thing in the world. 

But they were going to risk everything in the next few hours, and it wasn’t just going to be them with things worth losing; the people in front of them, the people of Salis, they had things worth losing too. They had their families, jobs, their _lives_ on the line, and yet they were still here. They deserved a few words of motivation, at least. 

“This is for your families.” Yamaguchi stepped forwards, his voice carrying in the air. They were standing on the shallow incline in front of the castle, and the grass was dewy beneath his boots, squeaking with every step forward he took. “For your friends. For everybody we’ve lost, everyone who gave their lives for this rebellion. For Yachi.” 

Yamaguchi looked at the people by his side; Tanaka and Noya, who loved Yachi like a sister, just like he did. 

Daichi, their brave captain, who had defied his orders and broke his vows of servitude to fight for them. 

Suga, their indispensable fountain of information. 

Asahi, their emotional support and constant optimist. 

Narita, their medic, without which they would all probably be dead or still severely injured. 

Kinoshita, their cook, who somehow managed to make delicious meals and soup from nothing but dust and water. 

Ennoshita, their voice of reason who prevented them from rushing into anything stupid (most of the time). 

Tsukki. Infuriating, protective, salty, vulnerable, a-million-other-things-that-Yamaguchi-didn’t-have-the-time-to-name Tsukki. Their rebel prince. A friend. A lover. Home.

Yamaguchi turned back to the crowd, all of them waiting expectantly for their next words. “This is for us.”

A roar swelled up from the mass of people, enveloping them in a blanket of sound. Yamaguchi couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still waiting for something… but what?

His question was partially answered when the noise of the crowd dropped away to silence, and they all heard the steady, unmistakable thrum of hundreds of footsteps against grass. And heads started to appear above the crest of the hill. 

A young man with dark hair that faded to blond, resplendent in black and red silk reinforced with chainmail; next to him, a tall man with spiky black hair was clad in lightweight silver and black armour, with red motifs etched into the metal (Yamaguchi assumed that he was the other man’s guard). Next to them, a slim, pretty prince with black waves and his guard with black and white streaks, both of them decked out in silver and gold. And beside them, a tall prince with a shock of bright red hair was accompanied by his guard, their clothes dyed white and royal purple. Even after that, there was another pretty prince ( _do all royalty look this good?!_ ) and his guard, and their kingdom’s colours must have been turquoise and ivory. 

That wasn’t all. There must have been a hundred soldiers from each kingdom, lined up in neat rows next to the rebels with their armour glinting in the dark. Yamaguchi turned to Tsukki for an explanation, but his prince looked as nonplussed as he must have.

“I know them, but… How would they know? Unless my fath— the king called for backup… But he’s too prideful for that—” Tsukki mused, his pale brows scrunching together. “But everything that has happened all points to the fact that he considers us a threat.”

“I can hear you thinking from over here, Prince Tsukishima.” The pretty one in gold and silver called out, a wry smile etched on his face. “Relax, we’re not here to fight you.”

“Then what—”

“We’re here to fight with you, of course!” the buff guard with black and white hair grinned, his voice way too loud to be heard before the sun had even fully risen. 

Tsukki blinked, his nose scrunching up slightly. “And how did you find out that we were going to fight in the first place, Bokuto-san?”

This time, the guard with spiky black hair stepped forwards. “Well, your father told _our_ fathers about this entire rebellion thingy, and we all decided to join.” He grinned, a sly, twisted thing as his prince looked forwards impassively. “We didn’t even know that there were gonna be Cicumins, Aquilans and Arborans joining the fight until we saw their boats docked at the harbour.”

“You can imagine how much of a shock we got when we saw this idiot—” the pretty prince in turquoise jabbed a thumb at the black-haired guard, rolling his eyes and tossing his light brown hair out of his face, “standing on the docks next to Kenma.”

“Hey! Don’t be mean to Kuroo-san,” Bokuto pouted, his hair seeming to droop along with him.

“And it’s _Prince_ _Kozume_ to you,” Kuroo hissed at the brown-haired prince, a fake smile pasted on his lips even as he huffed good-naturedly.

“Wait. Wait. Hold up for a minute. My brain’s still processing.” Narita held both of his hands up in a mock surrender. “You’re saying that you’re gonna help us fight?” 

The prince with bright red hair smirked. “Yes, that’s what Bokuto, Akaashi, Oikawa, Kuroo and Kenma have been trying to tell you for, what, the last three minutes? I’m Tendou Satori, by the way. Prince of Aquila.” He said all his words so fast that it was nearly impossible to keep up. “I might as well finish the introductions. This is Ushijima Wakatoshi, my personal guard,” he said, cocking his head to the side and gesturing to the olive-haired man standing slightly behind him. “That’s Prince Oikawa of Arbor, with his guard Iwaizumi Hajime,” he waved towards the pair in ivory and turquoise. “Prince Akaashi Keiji of Cicuma and guard Bokuto Koutarou, and Prince Kozume Kenma of Aelurus with guard Kuroo Tetsurou,” he muttered, pointing to the pairs in gold and red respectively.

The rebels were still rather stunned. Tsukki adjusted his glasses. “And these people? How did you—”

“While you were busy with the rebellion, we were convincing our most trusted members of the royal battalions to come and fight.” Kenma spoke for the first time, his voice soft. “We couldn’t communicate because all communication passages were being monitored.”

Oikawa grinned. “Technically, our parents don’t know we’re here at all. We had all heard about the new date for Trading Day and we’d planned to arrive the day before.”

Yamaguchi gazed at the men and women gathered before him, clad in actual armour, armed with real weapons; now _this_ was an army. They had been fools, he realised, to think that they could win before, with only rage and intention to fuel them. But with this army... they would win _now._ They had to.

His train of thought was broken off by a (almost freakishly) tall Aelurean soldier with platinum blond hair, staring blatantly at Tsukki from where he was peeking out from behind Kuroo. “Is that him? I thought he’d be… princelier.” 

He yelped as he was kicked in the side by a shorter soldier with a mop of light brown curls. “Shut it, you damn flagpole—” 

“Oww, Yaku-saaaaaaaan!” 

Tsukki could hear the whispers emanating from the crowd, the sound of Kageyama and Hinata bickering softly behind him, Noya arguing with Asahi to let him fight with the rationalisation that ‘Narita-san set my ribs back already, I’m fine!’. He slowly lifted his chin, calmly surveying the other princes with slitted golden eyes. “Why do you want to join the rebellion?” A memory flashed through his mind as soon as those words left his lips; Yamaguchi, his chin raised in defiance and eyes smouldering with barely restrained vengeance, and Tsukki could only hope that he looked half as ferocious. 

The crowd shifted uneasily as none of the soldiers, guards or princes replied. At least, not until Ushijima stepped forwards, his face stoic as ever. “There is nothing pretty or poetic about war, Prince, which I’m sure you’ve found out by now. There is no aesthetic in death, nothing honourable or worthy of pride in the taking of lives. I think,” he glanced around the hill, his gaze travelling over rebels and soldiers alike, “that all of us here have seen blood strewn across a battlefield, heard the screams, felt the heavy, cloying press of death upon our skin.” There was pin-drop silence in the clearing as everybody relived memories that they didn’t want to remember. “If our intervention means less death, if it means that justice will be delivered… well, we’ve made our decisions. We will fight, Prince. For a better tomorrow.” 

“And besides,” Iwaizumi smirked, cocking an eyebrow, “we’ve literally seen each other in diapers.” A ripple of laughter passed through the masses, the tension in the air dissipating slightly. “We’ve known each other since we were all children, haven’t we? We’re practically family, and family’s there for each other.”

Oikawa chuckled in disbelief. “Could you possibly be going soft, Iwa-chan?”

“I don’t go soft that easily, Your Highness, you of all people should know that by now.” 

“Oh?”

The guard’s smirk deepened. “Remind me again, how many rounds did we go last night? I’m surprised you can still walk.”

“Will you look at that, I don’t remember,” Oikawa replied airily, waving a slender, dismissive hand. 

“So you _can_ go stupid from getting rai—”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Yamaguchi interrupted, his voice muffled by the hand pressed over his mouth. 

Tsukki had learnt how to read his body language well enough by now that he knew the baker was trying to repress a laugh, but he hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the conversation; Yamaguchi’s eyes looked like they were glowing again, and they were rather distracting. _...Did I miss a joke?_

“We should… we should go.” Yamaguchi turned to the civilians, still uncertain and waiting for orders. “Don’t go into the Rosethorne Maze unless you know exactly how to get out, or you’re with somebody who does,” he yelled, swallowing hard and stepping back when he was done. He reached for Tsukki’s hand. “Together?” 

The first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, and Tsukki could see the thick, grey layer of clouds that hung heavy above their heads. _There’s a storm coming…_ He turned his face to the sun, feeling its dulled warmth fall across his face as he closed his eyes. He felt Yamaguchi’s fingers slip between his and he squeezed once, turning to face the castle; a massive, twisted monster against a backdrop of the slowly lightening sky, crouched for the kill. “Together.” 

The minutes seemed to blur together as they ran towards the castle. It barely seemed like any time had passed at all when Tsukki and Yamaguchi had led several Cicumin soldiers into the castle through a secret passageway, and they had managed to raise the portcullis to let the others in. It was chaos as soon as the alarm bells started ringing, though, royal guards flooding the central courtyard and forcing the rebels to break their lines. Tsukki’s breath came out in heavy pants as he ran towards the royal gardens, barely ducking fast enough to dodge an axe that flew clean over his head and lodged itself solidly in the chest plate of a royal guard, sending the man down with a choked scream. 

Yamaguchi and Daichi flanked him on his left and right, the rest of the thirteen following close behind; they bobbed and weaved their way through the crowd of people engaged in combat, trying to avoid fighting as much as they could. Tsukki was relieved to see that most of the bodies on the floor were clad in mint green and iron, the royal colours of Salis; they were royal guards. 

Tsukki’s attention was dragged away when he heard a yell from behind him. He turned just in time to see Noya getting dragged away by an arm around his waist, the man struggling to twist around and face his attacker. The prince skidded to a stop. “Noya— No!” 

But a hand tugged on the collar of his shirt as Daichi pulled him back. Asahi broke away from their little group, stretching his string of rosary beads between his hands and running into the fray. “Go!” he roared over his shoulder. “Keep going and don’t stop, I’ll keep him safe!” 

Tsukki hesitated for a moment longer before he broke into a run again. His chest twinged, but he had to trust Noya and Asahi. There was no other way he could keep his sanity in the chaos. 

The guards were like ants, swarming all over the place and picking them off one by one. It wasn’t long before Ennoshita broke away, then Narita, then Suga and Daichi, and soon after that Kinoshita too, all for the sake of holding back the guards just so Tsukki could keep going. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tanaka take a guard down with his axe, saw Kiyoko fire a rapid stream of arrows from her bow. Kageyama and Hinata circled around him and Yamaguchi, fending off any attacks before they could land. 

It was a relief to step into the royal garden, to say the least. The fighting was less overwhelming there, and they took advantage of the open space to take a breather. Tanaka and Kiyoko had stayed behind somewhere in the courtyard, and they had barely caught their breath before two guards were running for Kageyama and Hinata. Tsukki swung his claymore up, and Hinata yelled, “Go! We’ll be fine, just get to the Maze!” He turned and caught the guard’s sword with the edge of his own blade, twisting until they broke apart and then swinging for the woman’s neck. 

“Kei.” The prince didn’t really notice Yamaguchi calling him until the baker tugged on his wrist. “Kei, they can handle themselves. Let’s go.” 

Tsukki let Yamaguchi pull him along. It took a while of his feet stumbling uncoordinatedly over the grassy ground before his legs started working again. As they took off across the clearing, he heard voices shouting, followed by thundering footsteps as a group of guards gave chase behind them. Yamaguchi slowed down and let go of his wrist. “Tadashi, don’t even think about it,” he said, trying to slide an arm behind Yamaguchi’s back and push him along. 

The baker didn’t budge, standing his ground and squeezing the carved hilt of his hunting knife, the blade as long as his forearm. The group of about fifteen guards drew ever closer. “If I don’t… we’ll never make it.” 

Tsukki looked to Yamaguchi, then to the guards and back at Yamaguchi again. “No. No! One against fifteen is _suicide_ , you know that—”

“I know,” Yamaguchi replied simply. 

The guards were almost there.

And for a moment, just a moment, time stopped. 

“I started this rebellion fully prepared to lose every single thing I had for the sake of the people.” The baker laughed quietly, looking up at Tsukki with soft, dark eyes, deep and warm like endless, welcoming pools of satin and silk. “But then I found you. And suddenly, I had something that I couldn’t bear to lose.” He shifted his stance, bringing his free hand up to cup Tsukki’s cheek, gently wiping away a tear that the prince hadn’t realised was there. “I admit, you made me selfish. I stopped thinking about the people, I only cared about _you_. And if this means that you will live to see another day, that you and Noya and Tanaka and everybody else will stay alive for tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that… then it’s all that I could hope for.” 

Tsukki’s throat felt curiously raw; somehow, the guards still hadn’t reached them yet, and the prince let a sob wrench its way out of his throat. “I can’t lose you. Not again, not after I fought so hard—” He brought a hand up to his face and laced his fingers through Yamaguchi’s own, warm against his cheek. “Staying alive won’t be worth it, tomorrow won’t be worth _anything_ to me if you aren’t next to me.”

“Then it’s up to you to _make it worth something._ ” Yamaguchi lurched upwards, smashing their lips together in a kiss. There was nothing gentle about it; it was rough and urgent and hurried as they both tried to pour all their feelings and wishes into that one spot where their mouths joined, bodies twining around each other.

It felt like goodbye.

Yamaguchi broke away first, his hands trembling at the sides of Tsukki’s head. “I love you, Kei.” And then he was gone, sprinting towards the pack of guards with his hunting knife in one hand and a short dagger in the other, his olive hair coming loose in the wind. 

_Move. Move. You have to succeed. You have to._ Tsukki’s feet tripped over one another as he forced himself to stumble forward, forced his limbs and body to move even as his vision went blurry from tears. He couldn’t fail now. 

He blindly ran towards the Rosethorne Maze, moving from memory. He couldn’t remember how he got through all the twists and turns of the maze, and he lost count of the number of stray guards he felled along the way, but he found himself in the centre soon enough, surrounded by towering green hedges of verdant leaves, blood-red roses sprinkled throughout. He slumped back against a hedge, ignoring the sharp thorns pricking at his skin and clothes. His chest felt like someone had fastened iron bands around it, and they were tightening them with every breath he took. He didn’t have time to waste, though; a group of guards balked as they turned around a corner and saw him, before two people shoved their way to the front to see what the holdup was all about. 

“Hello, Mother dear. Father,” Tsukki sneered, tilting his head in a sarcastic nod towards them even as his tears dried stiff on his cheeks. He heard footsteps behind him, slowing down the louder they got. He didn’t turn around, but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of the guards that had been chasing him earlier, a hulking, muscled man with unevenly buzzed hair. He had to choke down a sob. If they were there, then that meant that Yamaguchi— 

“How could you do this? You’re our _son_!” His attention was pulled back by his mother’s enraged shriek. She was a far cry from the perfectly put-together woman that she usually was; her hair was loose and messy around her shoulders and her long green silk gown was rumpled, the hem stained with dirt. 

Tsukki’s lip curled even more, his voice dripping with disdain and hate. “I’m not your son. Not anymore. I never was, really, seeing as you never treated me like one, did you?” 

“You are _nothing_ without us!” His father’s bellowing voice used to make him cower, but it didn’t anymore. Not when Tsukki had hellfire racing through his veins, the sacrifice of the boy he loved still fresh in his mind. 

“You made me a _monster._ Without you, I’m… human.” Sure, people could argue that all the blood on his hands made him a monster too, but nobody came out of a war the way they went in. He would kill all the royal guards in the maze single-handedly if it meant that Yamaguchi’s sacrifice didn’t go to waste. 

“This is treason.” His mother’s voice cracked; she was scared. Tsukki grinned, a sharp, dangerous thing. _I think I’m going a little mad._

The fear was rather clear on her face now, also evident in the way she stepped slightly behind the king, who bellowed, “You will be _executed_!” 

“No, he won’t. Not if we can help it.”

_Alright. I’m officially mad,_ Tsukki thought, because Yamaguchi was right there, running towards him from his right with the other eleven rebellion leaders, all of the foreign princes and generals right behind them. And as they walked into the clearing at the centre of the maze, Tsukki could see loads of other people that had been following; soldiers, civilians, even some of their undercover royal guards with bandanas tied around their necks for identification. 

His father’s roar shattered the silence. “Kill them! _Kill them all!_ ” And the guards moved.

Tsukki took a deep breath, dredging up his training from where it had been buried under everything else that his body had been through in the past few weeks. He felt his muscles flex under his skin, synapses crackling as he ran through old neural pathways and let his instincts take over. He ducked, swerved, dodged, weaving around his opponent’s attacks as the man swung at him wildly with his longsword. He didn’t even feel an ounce of guilt as he drove his claymore through the guard’s chest and pulled it out, letting him fall to the ground. He turned to face his next adversary, but he caught sight of Yamaguchi, and time seemed to slow down again. 

The baker’s olive hair was loose around his face, strands fluttering sideways to catch in long, thick lashes. His nose was scrunched up, full lips stretched wide as he screamed something, the blade of his sabre crashing against his opponent’s weapon with a resounding _clang_ , sparks flying along the edge. His eyes seemed to glow with an unearthly light, and they were almost inhuman in their ferocity. Yamaguchi was a battle angel on the field, a Valkyrie amongst men, and Tsukki suddenly felt extremely unworthy of that fierce creature’s affection. 

But then time started moving again, and Tsukki had to drop into a crouch to avoid a longsword that would have cleaved through his neck. He spun on the balls of his feet, slicing deep into the back of the woman’s calves with his claymore and clocking her on the back of her head with the metal hilt as she went down. The next guard was a slight little thing with short blond hair, and she reminded Tsukki painfully of Yachi. He froze in place, his arm going slack as he blinked to make sure that he wasn’t seeing things. That was his downfall, the prince realised, as she took advantage of his hesitation and ducked underneath his arm, landing a slice to his side. He hooked an arm around her shoulders as she twisted to escape, turning her around and resting the tip of his blade at the hollow of her throat. 

Light brown eyes stared back into his, wide and terrified and almost identical to the eyes of his departed friend. Tsukki gulped as she struggled against his grip, fingers tightening on the hilt of his sword.

“No— no, wait, please—”

She was young, couldn’t be any older than he was. Than Yachi had been. His vision blurred. “I’m sorry.” 

The girl closed her eyes, stopped struggling, resigned herself to her fate. Tsukki would try his best to give her a quick death, an easy one that was as painless as possible. After all, she was just as much of a victim of this was as they were. He was rather relieved to feel the guilt that burned in his chest; it proved that he was still human, at least up to a certain degree. He took a deep breath and readied his weapon. 

“ _ENOUGH!_ ” The prince very nearly jumped out of his skin when Daichi’s bellow blasted through the maze, and a bead of blood appeared on the girl’s throat. Slowly, the crowd gathered to the sides to reveal the king and queen, bound in coarse rope and forced down to their knees in the middle of the clearing, Daichi standing sentinel beside them. “Your king and queen have surrendered! Will you still fight? Or will you lay down your arms and join us?” the captain barked, and Tsukki knew that all the royal guards within earshot were feeling the full force of his wrath. 

The girl gulped, her throat bobbing dangerously close to the tip of Tsukki’s blade. She watched him with wary eyes as her longsword slipped from her fingers, landing on the grass with a quiet _thunk_ , and Tsukki put down his sword to let her go. A knot he hadn’t noticed in his throat dissipated. All around them, weapons were being dropped onto the grass, royal guards finally released from their bound of servitude. _They didn’t want this,_ Tsukki reminded himself, a little ashamed at the realisation that he had forgotten. _They didn’t want any of this, no more than we did; they were just following orders._

Something cool fell onto his forehead. Tsukki looked up to the sky and saw the heavy storm clouds gathered overhead, the sun’s rays just only peeking through. Another raindrop landed on his upturned face, and despite all that had happened, he smiled. _It’s over. It’s all over._ The rain was falling steadily now, a slight drizzle turning into sheets of water that fell from the heavens and rinsed away their sins. Tsukki laughed through the ache in his muscles and the slight burn in his side as the rain washed the blood from his skin and clothes, collecting on his glasses and soaking him through; the icy cold made him feel alive, and it was exhilarating to laugh and just stand in the downpour, knowing that they were free. Free to leave, to explore, to go wherever the wind took them, with the whole world spread out at their fingertips and theirs for the taking. 

Over the soundscape of rain and thunder and wind, he heard Yamaguchi’s smooth, sweet tenor break into a laugh, a wild, happy thing that Tsukki had feared he’d never get to hear again. The baker’s arms were outstretched like a bird, his head thrown back as he spun around on the spot. Somehow, Tsukki heard his words, too. 

“Mama, Papa, I did it. We did it.”

He would take Yamaguchi to the beach first, Tsukki decided. He wanted to see the boy he loved splashing in the ocean, laughing happily just like that with his head thrown back as he dug his toes into the sand, the sun shining down on him and crowning his body with a halo of light. After that, he’d buy them a ship, and he’d teach himself how to sail; he would take Yamaguchi wherever he wanted, and one day, he’d ask his beloved to marry him. But then somebody crashed into him, a bundle of loud, unrestrained laughter and olive hair and starry freckles, and he was too preoccupied to think any longer as Yamaguchi sent them both tumbling to the ground. 

Yamaguchi’s limbs were wrapped so tightly around him that Tsukki nearly couldn’t breathe, but he would rather die than let go. His injured side burned like fire, but he ignored it completely and squeezed Yamaguchi back even tighter because the boy he loved was in his lap and all his friends were okay and _goddammit, they survived._ “How did you— how are you—” 

“I thought that I was gonna die, I really did, I was surrounded and this huge guard was backing me into a corner but then Kuroo was there! And Bokuto! And Akaashi and Kenma and Noya and Asahi! And they pulled me out of there and we just decided to run and help you instead because there were more guards coming and then we bumped into Daichi and the others and then— oh my god my hands are _shaking—_ ” Yamaguchi rambled, his laugh jittery, still trembling from the adrenaline and the pure thrill of being _alive_. “Oh god, I’m probably hugging you too hard, aren’t I—”

“I don’t care if you’re gonna break my spine, just _don’t let go_ ,” Tsukki laughed into Yamaguchi’s sodden hair, sounding a little deranged even to his own ears. “Holy _shit_ , we’re alive.” 

Yamaguchi laughed shakily, his legs clamping around Tsukki’s waist. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re alive. Holy shit.” He pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together, hands coming up to frame the sides of Tsukki’s face. “Holy fucking hell, _we’re alive!_ ” He tilted his head back to scream at the sky, pumping his fists in the air. “ _WHOO-HOO!_ ” 

As he brought his hands back down, Tsukki noticed that Yamaguchi’s palms were red and raw, slightly bloody in some places where blisters had obviously formed and then popped. “Your sword?” he asked, cupping the back of the baker’s hands carefully. 

“Mhm.” Yamaguchi hummed in agreement and chuckled as Tsukki magically produced a clean (albeit soaked) white silk handkerchief for a pocket somewhere and gently dabbed the blood off his palms, dropping a soft kiss on the heart of each one when he was finished. “I would have been done for if the princes and their lovers hadn’t shown up when they did,” he mused, draping his arms straight across Tsukki’s shoulders and crossing his wrists behind his neck. 

“Lovers?” the prince asked, his brows scrunching into a confused frown. “They aren’t—”

“Oh yes, they _are_. They all are.”

“ _No_ , they’re just—” 

“Don’t you remember what Prince Oikawa and Iwaizumi-san said? Before we started fighting?” 

“Oh.” Tsukki blinked once. And then, “ _Oh._ ” 

There it was, that endearing flustered little pout that Yamaguchi had been waiting for. He was sure that Tsukki didn’t even know he did it, and that made the baker love it all the more. 

“I was distracted, okay? Your eyes looked really pretty, and—”

Yamaguchi giggled, his teeth gleaming. “You think my eyes are pretty?”

“I’ve always thought your eyes were pretty, it was why I went back to the bakery in the first place.” 

Now it was Yamaguchi’s turn to blush, a soft, muted red blooming across the apples of his cheeks, making his freckles stand out in stark contrast. 

Tsukki leaned forwards to press kisses to each of his flushed cheeks, before planting on his slightly-parted lips. “God, I love you so much. More than you could ever possibly understand.” 

Yamaguchi grinned against his lips. “You’d better spend the rest of your life trying to enlighten me, then.”

“I will.” 

All around them, people were celebrating, crying and laughing in relief, falling into each others’ embraces just like they were. But at that moment, Tsukki and Yamaguchi were the only two people in the world. Two stars in the same orbit, circling around each other for all eternity, with the entire universe at their fingertips. It was rather terrifying, if Tsukki was being honest, to have so much freedom when all he’d known was captivity. But they were birds with the wind beneath their wings, and the world would be their playground. They would take the universe that was at their fingertips and mold it into something of their very own. 

Tsukki smiled, dipping his head down to press his lips against Yamaguchi’s again.

_I will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL RIGHT IT’S JUST GONNA BE FLUFF FROM NOW ON SO THAT’S GREAT— anyone been to a coronation before? no? well, you’ll be going to one in the next chapter ;)


	14. A New Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two crowns  
> Two thrones  
> Thirteen people  
> One soul  
> One kingdom  
> One rebellion
> 
> Peace, at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ao3 Haikyuu fandom, have I told you how much I love you guys recently? No? Well I love you to the fucking moon and back so y’all better get used to it
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the kudos, comments and support that you’ve given me on this story!! It means the whole world to me 💕

Tsukki winced, tugging irritatedly at the stiff, starched collar of his suit. The cotton was unbearably stiff against his neck, the material already damp with sweat as he suffered under the beaming morning sun. His shirt stretched tight across his chest and shoulders; he hadn’t had to wear formal clothes since he joined the rebellion, and it was… uncomfortable, to say the least.

_Did I really walk around in this stuff every day?_ He sighed, cracking his neck and clasping his hands behind his back again. His life as a prince seemed so far away. Light years behind him, separated from him by an uncrossable void of time and space, and entire lifetime ago—

“Oi, stop fidgeting,” Tanaka hissed from where he stood beside him, his own hands clenched tight around each other behind him.

Maybe Tsukki was picking up too much of Yamaguchi’s melodramatic flare. 

After the rebellion, Salis had taken a while to recalibrate itself. The people had mourned their dead and burned their bodies before getting started on the kingdom’s restorations; they had burned down a good few buildings during their first botched attempt at storming the castle. Then, there came the issue of Salis’s leaders getting exiled; the vanquished king and queen were banished from the kingdom for as long as they lived.

Tsukki had naturally been the person everybody expected to become king, seeing as he _was_ the crown prince and rightfully next in line for the throne, but he had refused outright. He had been scared of the implications of being a royal, of bearing the weight and responsibility of a kingdom on his shoulders, of the fact that he didn’t know how to rule his people the right way.

So they had let the people themselves choose; they had cast a vote, with everybody above the age of eighteen eligible for ascension to the throne. Tsukki had refrained from withdrawing with a little (read: a whole-ass lot) of persuasion from Yamaguchi, even though he felt like the baker deserved the role as king way more than he did.

But it didn’t really matter in the end. The denizens of Salis had turned to the person who had led them out of the darkness, the man who had started the rebellion; not their crown prince, but Yamaguchi. That was the entire reason why pretty much the entire population of the kingdom was crammed into their town square; it was Yamaguchi’s coronation day. The king and queen’s thrones had been moved outside, too; the palace was still in shambles, and no matter how huge the central courtyard was, it would never fit the entire kingdom. 

_Well, this isn’t exactly any better._ Tsukki nearly brought a hand up to scratch at his neck again before he caught himself and forced it down, scrunching his nose to try and wiggle his glasses up from where they’d slid down his bridge from all the sweat. He tried to distract himself by taking an inventory of the square; it was a trick he’d taught himself as a child to calm down and focus. Tanaka, Kiyoko and Noya were to his right, Suga on his left, all five of them dressed in leather breeches and cotton dress shirts and standing next to the massive, ridiculously tall wooden platform that had been set up. Kinoshita, Ennoshita and Narita were behind them, dressed similarly, and Kageyama and Hinata were standing with Daichi on the opposite side, all three garbed in their guard’s uniform of slim-fitting leggings and leather armour. Asahi was already waiting on the stage in his priest’s robes, standing in front of the two thrones with the orb, sceptre and a crown set on a plush red pillow on the long table beside him. 

But then a horn’s deep, smooth bellow filled the air, resonating around the square and quieting the chatter of the crowd. The royal fanfare started playing, trumpets blaring in perfect symphony, but Tsukki’s heart was beating too loud in his ears for him to hear. He could only watch as the crowd parted like the red sea, revealing a tall, slender figure resplendent in gold and white. 

_Oh._ Tsukki could feel his lips part gently, eyes widening an infinitesimal amount.

Yamaguchi looked like a _god_.

If Tsukki was the bright, silver moon and blue night sky, all soft clouds and pale eyes and gentle beams of light, then Yamaguchi would be the stars spinning around him, pinpricks of precious light woven into a glittering veil, glowing in his darkness.

Yamaguchi would be the earth, his eyes the colour of freshly-tilled soil, still damp and dark after a rainstorm. His freckles were constellations across his cheeks, his hair the finest silk across his shoulders, the rich, muted green of leaves right before they turned orange for autumn. It was impossible to see all those details with such a distance between them, Tsukki knew, but he saw them anyway, each small thing he loved about Yamaguchi spread out before his eyes in perfect detail.

His cloak was snow-white across his shoulders and back, shot through with threads and swirls of pure gold, lined with soft fur and fluttering behind him in some invisible draft as he walked forwards.

The leather of his pants was dyed all the colours of the forest, the buttery yellows and browns of chocolate and amber and wet earth, of the golden leaves that carpeted the ground.

His blouse was so finely woven that it seemed to be spun from starlight itself, fitted perfectly to his lean frame as he walked down to the platform by the path that the crowd had created for him.

_This_ was what Yamaguchi deserved; the finest clothes the world had to offer, silks and furs and more. The best he could possibly get of everything. Tsukki would make sure that he would want for nothing, make sure that he would never be unsatisfied or unhappy to the best of his ability, but right then? The boy he loved was walking towards him looking more like a king than Tsukki had ever looked, and all he could think was an incredibly eloquent _oh_. 

Tsukki had finally stopped moving for the first time that day, his body frozen in place, heart beating once in his ears with every step that Yamaguchi took. But the smile Yamaguchi flashed him as he walked by had his body coming back to life, buzzing and thrumming with a tingly warmth that radiated from his sternum. The other man slowly climbed the stairs of the platform to where Asahi was waiting with a smile. Tsukki watched them exchange a few whispered words, and Yamaguchi’s soft chuckle made his heart start beating alarmingly fast, but he didn’t fight it.

He would have, if he hadn’t met Yamaguchi, but he was a different man than he was before. A different man in a different life, with old and new friends by his side, love in his heart and a soft smile on his face. Because everything they had worked for was coming to fruition, and Yamaguchi was _happy._ That was all Tsukki would ever want. 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi. Are you here to take the Coronation Oath of Salis and ascend to the throne as king?” Asahi asked.

Yamaguchi straightened his spine, drawing himself up taller. “Yes,” he answered, conviction clear in his voice, steady and smooth and strong. 

Asahi turned to grab the orb and sceptre, both items made of pure, solid gold, inlaid with various jewels. They glittered as he placed the orb in Yamaguchi’s upturned right palm and passed the sceptre to his other hand. “Repeat after me, please. I, Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

The olive-haired man wrapped his fingers around the golden staff. “I, Yamaguchi Tadashi.”

“Swear to uphold the virtues of loyalty, justice and fairness as king.” Asahi smiled slightly; he’d been the one chosen to rewrite the Coronation Oath, seeing as the previous one had been rather… ineffective. 

Yamaguchi’s smile grew, too, twisting slightly into a smirk. “Swear to uphold the virtues of loyalty, justice and fairness as king.”

“And promise to always do what is best for the kingdom of Salis, to the best of my ability.”

“And promise to always do what is best for the kingdom of Salis, to the best of my ability.”

Asahi carefully picked up the crown. It was brand new; Tsukki had commissioned their royal jeweller for a new one to be made. _Only the best for our new king,_ he had insisted. The crown was heavy, fashioned into stacked laurel wreaths representing victory with gold for vines and emeralds for leaves, inlaid and scattered throughout with golden quartz, rubies and andalusite for goodwill, inspiration, strength, good fortune, courage and prosperity, as well as balance and protection. He lifted it and gently set it down on Yamaguchi’s head, his smile splitting into a full-blown grin and he knelt down on one knee and bowed his head. “My king.” 

Yamaguchi turned around slowly. The crowd was sinking to their knees like a ripple across the ocean, all of them bowed in reverence. Tsukki was no exception; the leather of his pants was stretched tight around his knees and the cobblestones were uncomfortable beneath them, but he stayed down. Everybody did, with only their eyes looking up. Watching. Waiting. 

And when Yamaguchi knelt back, he was greeted with a shock of cheers and applause, everybody springing to their feet, chatter breaking the slightly tense atmosphere. Tsukki was faintly aware of the way his cheeks were aching from his wide smile, the burn of his palms because he was clapping way too hard, laughing out loud as he heard Suga whoop from beside him, Noya roaring Yamaguchi’s name in fierce pride. 

The new king unfolded gracefully from the ground, stepping down the stairs after putting down the orb and sceptre and strolling over to Tsukki, a radiant smile on his lips. That was enough to raise some confusion, because by right… _Isn’t he supposed to walk off with the orb and sceptre?_ And then Tsukki got sidetracked. Again. _He’s… glowing. He’s glowing._ And Yamaguchi really _was_ glowing; it was like someone had injected starlight straight into his veins, imbuing him with pure celestial glitter. The blond stepped forward to tuck Yamaguchi into his arms, but he drew back slightly as the king stepped out of his reach. 

Yamaguchi laughed softly before Tsukki could ask any questions. “Tsukishima Kei. It was hate at first sight, if I remember correctly.” He made sure that his voice carried, and a ripple of laughter passed through the crowd as they shifted into a circle around the two lovers. Yamaguchi’s eyes were doing that thing again, the thing that made Tsukki weak in the knees, that fierce fire that gleamed from within them. “But… you came back, to the bakery. And as we grew to know each other, I found myself falling deeper and deeper for you, every single day.”

The breath must have been stolen from Tsukki’s chest, because he suddenly found it insanely hard to breathe. He was pretty sure that he knew what was coming next. _Is he… He’s… Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is._

“I would have never thought that we’d be here, but… here we are. I love you with everything I have and more."

Tsukki’s chest twanged with the memory of the words that he’d said on the night Yamaguchi had stormed out of the bakery, but he had to focus all of his effort on keeping his face impassive as Yamaguchi knelt down on one knee before him, reaching into his pocket to pull out a ring. It was simple, nothing flashy, just a plain silver band with a crescent moon inlaid into the top with tiny diamonds.

“I can’t imagine life without you, and I know that I want you by my side for the rest of my life, if that’s what you want, too. Kei, will you marry me?” 

Silence. Utter silence as the entire crowd listened with bated breath, and Tsukki watched Yamaguchi’s face fall slowly as his own remained impassive. But then he couldn’t fight the smile he had been holding back any longer and he dropped down to both knees, a laugh rumbling low and deep in his chest. “Damn it, Tadashi. I was supposed to propose first…”

Yamaguchi wanted to say something. He really did, but there were two things in his way; one, he hadn’t really decided what he wanted to say yet. Two, he couldn’t exactly say anything when Tsukki was pressing one hand to his spine and cupping one around the back of his skull and crashing their lips together. The crowd’s cheers returned in full force and a whole lot louder than before, but they sounded faint and far away; Yamaguchi could only hear his own heart pounding in his chest, blood rushing through his ears, he could only feel Tsukki’s warm tongue sliding against his, feel the prince tense up and hiss as Yamaguchi sunk his teeth into the other’s pale lower lip. 

Tsukki kissed the breath right out of Yamaguchi’s lungs, hugging the king tight against his body as they knelt on the dirt-dusted cobblestones. Their knees were getting sore, but Yamaguchi only pulled away because he desperately needed air; his head was spinning. Or maybe that was just Tsukki… the blond had a penchant for making his body do physically impossible things, like making butterflies teleport into his stomach every time they kissed. “You—” Yamaguchi panted, still breathless, his hands clutching onto Tsukki’s shirt. “You absolute _dick_.” 

“ _Che_ ,” Tsukki tsked playfully, leaning back in for a quick peck before darting away again with a laugh as Yamaguchi flicked his forehead. “The king shouldn’t swear. But I’m the only dick you want, yes?” 

The blond waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Yamaguchi scoffed in faux outrage, thumping a half-hearted fist against his chest. “Gods, I think Noya and Suga are rubbing off on you. Utterly _scandalous_.” His next words were softer, more unsure, his bravado fading away to reveal just how nervous he was. “So… Is that a yes?”

Tsukki suddenly felt bad. “Tadashi, look at me, sweetheart.” He tilted Yamaguchi’s chin up gently, looking into dark, tumultuous eyes, quicksand and oak and starshine upon shadow. “ _Of course_ it’s a yes. It’s always been a yes.” He leant down to press another kiss to Yamaguchi’s lips, completely ignoring the people around them; they could afford to wait. This time the kiss was soft, loving and tender and _easy_ ; Tsukki eased him into it, both hands cupping his jaw, fingertips feathering at his hairline. “I’m sorry for messing with you, I just really wanted to propose first. I even got the rings already…”

“Well, we can use them at our wedding then,” Yamaguchi suggested, almost shyly, eyes flicking to Tsukki’s lips as his teeth sank into his own. “When we get married.”

Taukki kissed him again, their lips slotting together perfectly, noses sliding into place beside each other. “I love you,” he murmured against Yamaguchi’s lips, a soft sight puffing from his nose. “I love you so much. And it will _always_ be a yes.” He pulled his left hand away from Yamaguchi’s face. “Put it on for me, love?” 

The blond smiled at the slide of warmed metal against his fourth finger, a new and comforting weight as Yamaguchi adjusted the ring to make sure that the moon was facing upwards. The king reached into his pocket again; he pulled out an identical ring, unnoticeably smaller than the first, with a small pentagram inlaid into the silver. He held it up to Tsukki with a shaky laugh, and the other man took it carefully, slipping it onto Yamaguchi’s fourth finger and adjusting it the way he had. 

Tsukki climbed up to his feet and reached out a hand for Yamaguchi to take if he wanted, but the king ignored it, getting up on his own. _Ahh, there he is. My fierce independent badass fiancé._ Tsukki’s grin was unrestrained as Yamaguchi grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forwards, crushing their lips together for another unforgiving kiss before giving the blond a gentle shove towards the platform.

“Go on. Your turn,” he laughed playfully, cocking a hip to the side and planting one hand on his waist. 

_What is he… Oh._ Tsukki cocked a brow when he turned to the platform and realised that Asahi was smiling, reaching behind his back to pull out a second crown and wave it at him. _So he was in on this?_ He looked around and was greeted with multiple smirks. _Along with only god knows who else. Tadashi, you sly little thing._ He was grinning like an idiot as he walked up the stairs, but he couldn’t help it; he had never imagined he’d be where he was then. He had a family, he had friends, he was young and in love and _happy_. Never in his life had he thought that he’d be _happy_. But he was, and he owed it all to his star, the man smiling up at him with a golden crown in his hair and galaxies in his eyes. 

Asahi picked up the crown and sceptre. “Tsukishima Kei. Are you here to take the Coronation Oath of Salis and ascend to the throne as the second king?”

“Yes.” The orb and sceptre were heavy in Tsukki’s palms, warm from the sun, but the heat didn’t bother him much anymore.

“Repeat after me, please. I, Tsukishima Kei.”

“I, Tsukishima Kei.” 

“Swear to uphold the virtues of loyalty, justice and fairness as king.” 

Tsukki sucked in a deep breath. “Swear to uphold the virtues of loyalty, justice and fairness as king.”

“And promise to always do what is best for the kingdom of Salis, to the best of my ability.”

“And promise to always do what is best for the kingdom of Salis, to the best of my ability.”

Asahi picked up the second crown from where he’d placed it on the red pillow. It was simpler than Yamaguchi’s but no less beautiful; instead of multiple laurel wreaths stacked together, this only had one. There was more delicate golden filigree twining around the emerald leaves and jewels, too, and it was clear that this was meant to be the queen’s crown. For some reason, Tsukki didn’t mind that fact one bit. It was heavy as Asahi placed it upon his golden curls. _The weight of a kingdom, I suppose._

“My king.” Asahi was down on one knee before him, and as Tsukki spun around, he realised that everybody else was too. It was an incredible sight to behold, especially from that higher vantage point; now Tsukki understood the exhilarated flush that had coloured Yamaguchi’s cheeks as he’d stepped off the platform. It didn’t take him long to lower himself to one knee, facing the crowd, letting the cheers swell and wash over him. There was a fierce burn of pride in his chest, and fondness too, both for his people and for his home.

_Home,_ he mused to himself as he stood up and threw proper ceremonial procedure to the goddamn wind, plonking the orb and sceptre down onto the cushion unceremoniously before scrambling down the stairs straight into Yamaguchi’s waiting arms, the other man’s delighted laughter ringing in his ears. He had never thought of Salis as home before. _But,_ he thought to himself as he buried his face into Yamaguchi’s sweet-smelling hair, their friends swarming around them, _I think I could get used to it._

He laughed as Yamaguchi finally stopped trying to squeeze the life out of him and pulled him back up the platform, their feet stumbling over the wooden steps before they collapsed into their thrones, Yamaguchi claiming the king’s while Tsukki took the queen’s. “Oh _shit_ ,” Yamaguchi hissed, sitting bolt upright before easing himself back against the chair gingerly, wearing an expression that could be appropriated to someone sucking the juice out of five extremely sour lemons. “That was _not_ as comfortable as I thought it would be.”

Tsukki snorted, a laugh strangling its way out of his throat. “They’re made of pure gold, sweetheart. Did you expect them to be comfortable?”

“Well— I mean—” He caught sight of Tsukki biting into his lip, his shoulders trembling as he tried to refrain from bursting into laughter and embarrassing himself on his first day as king. “How the _heck_ did your parents sit on these all day, then?!” 

“Nobody said that it was going to be easy to be a king, did they?” Yamaguchi’s sulky sour lemon face was back. “Ah ah ah ah! I know what you’re thinking! No take backsies, you’re stuck as a king now,” he chuckled, leaning over to take Yamaguchi’s left hand in his and running his thumb over the metal of his engagement ring, feeling each individual diamond that made up the pentagram. “Don’t worry, Tadashi. We can get new ones made if you really don’t like yours.” 

Yamaguchi’s sour lemon face got slightly less sour. “Really?” 

“We’re _kings_ now. We could put a padded chaise lounge in the throne room and nobody would be able to do a thing to stop us.” The blond king leaned over to press a kiss against his fiancé’s freckled cheek. 

“Are you drunk?” Yamaguchi eyed him suspiciously. “You’re being unusually… frivolous.”

Tsukki sighed through a smile, looking out over the chattering crowd, over their friends, laughing and talking right next to the platform. “The rebellion won. Salis is free, and I just got engaged to the love of my life. I think I have plenty of reasons to be…” He leaned in close, biting Yamaguchi’s earlobe gently before pulling away after a playful kiss to his lover’s hairline, “ _frivolous._ ” He laughed softly at Yamaguchi’s full-body shudder and the red blush glowing across his cheeks, lacing their fingers together even tighter. “I guess you really _could_ say that Suga and Noya are rubbing off on me.”

Yamaguchi’s laughter was absolute music to his ears, better than anything the court musicians had ever played, better than any of the lute music they heard on the streets. And then, just for a moment, Tsukki could have sworn that he saw a small female figure at the far edge of the crowd, her blonde hair swaying in an invisible breeze. “I think Yachi would be proud of you, you know." 

Yamaguchi looked taken aback, but then his fiancé smiled gently, his eyes twinkling and soft. “I think she’d be proud of all of us.”

Tsukki looked out over the kingdom, the buildings spread out like a child's toy set of blocks; the afternoon sun gilded everything in gold, and he knew that somehow, it would be okay. They all would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody up for some good ole' Kagehina smut?


	15. A Thousand Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata shouldn’t have underestimated exactly how jealous Kageyama could get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY 2021!!!
> 
> Okay, so I got bored and I really wanted to write this so I said fuck my updating schedule and here we are. This chapter was really really fun to write! I think I forgot how much I love writing Kagehina and their dynamic, and this made me really happy whenehjshdjdj also not me here shamelessly making Kageyama an ass and thigh guy—
> 
> I got the spandex uniform legging idea from the fic wilson by the amazing benzaaldehyde! Go read the fic after you’re done with this if you want even more Kagehina (and definitely more smut ;))

_Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him don’t think abouthimdon’tthinkabouthim—_

It was utterly useless. Kageyama was thinking about him. He couldn’t get Hinata off his mind, actually, especially not while the ginger wearing _those_ leggings with _that_ ass and—

“Oi, Kageyamaaaaa!” The raven’s head snapped up from where he’d been death-glaring holes into the swept terracotta floor of the courtyard corner. After the coronation, Yamaguchi and Tsukki had decided to move the afterparty to the castle, deciding to let the guest roam as they pleased; there was literally no way the building could get any more wrecked, and it was a good way for the commoners to feel closer to the royals. Maybe Yamaguchi would be the one to bridge the gap between the two castes… But back to more pressing matters.

Hinata had bodily draped himself all over Kageyama’s back, somehow not spilling a drop of the warm mulled wine from his goblet. Tanaka and Noya had (with Yamaguchi’s permission, of course) broken into the castle’s cellar and broke out with the _non-alcoholic_ drinks (Tsukki had been adamant, to their dismay). Kageyama had absentmindedly sipped more than half of his own cup in the process of his valiant mental attempt to distract himself from the very fire-haired menace that was hanging over his shoulders.

“Let’s go explore!” Hinata said breathily, a laugh puffing out of his chest as his lips brushed Kageyama’s ear. 

_Do_ not _think about him._

_But that ass—_ That little voice at the back of his mind sounded suspiciously like Hinata. 

_Shut up. Don’t even think about it, me._

_...But why?_ That voice was _definitely_ Hinata’s. Kageyama was faintly aware of the other guard jabbering excitedly next to his ear, going on about where he wanted to go in the ruined palace, but the raven had to take a minute to think. _Why not think about Hinata?_ He was silent as he pondered about the dream he’d had a month ago, the one where Hinata had been splashing in the sea as he watched. He thought about the warmth in his chest as Hinata crawled over him on the docks and curled into his chest in a scared, trembling mess. The protectiveness that had welled up after seeing said scared trembling mess. 

He thought about the many other dreams since then; Hinata, lying next to him on a picnic blanket, gazing up at the starry sky. Hinata, soft and pliant in his arms, bare as the day he was born, curled against him and snoozing on his chest, both of them swaddled in a cocoon of blankets. Hinata draped in Kageyama’s shirt, milky thighs bare and the gleam of metal on the fourth finger of his left hand. 

Kageyama shuddered, thankful that Hinata was too preoccupied to notice. He had been too wired to sleep for the rest of the night after that one. He knew that he liked Hinata, but _marriage_? 

“Oi, Bakageyama! Are you even listening to me?” complained Hinata, the leather toes of his boots scrabbling against Kageyama’s spandex-clad calves. The raven couldn’t even see him properly, but somehow he could _hear_ that Hinata was pouting. 

“No.” Kageyama didn’t even bother denying it, but at least his voice was tinged with a little bit of remorse. _Why not think about Hinata?_

_Because… Because I’m scared. Of what would happen to us if he didn’t feel the same way about me._ Annoying as he was, Hinata had been Kageyama’s first true friend, the only one willing to look past the guard’s snobby attitude when he had first joined the barracks. And he was a _good_ friend, the first one Kageyama would willingly turn to for help, the one he knew would be guarding his back in a battle. And he didn’t want to lose that, but—

“—anna go to the pond and feed the koi and— _geh_ —” Kageyama felt Hinata’s elbows slipping from where they had been perched on his shoulders and moved without thinking, his hands swinging back to grab Hinata’s thighs and hitch them around his waist. 

The ginger reacted fast, swinging his legs forward to clamp around Kageyama’s middle and clinging to him like some oversized monkey, ankles crossing over the other guard’s stomach and locking into place. 

And that was the moment Kageyama knew he was well and truly fucked. 

Hinata’s thighs were clamping like a vice around his waist, firm and toned in his palms. Kageyama could feel the muscles even through spandex; they felt somehow both hard and pliant beneath his fingers and he was well and truly _fucked_. He felt his breathing increase, breaths coming deeper and faster, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Hinata’s legs around him, but maybe with the ginger’s ankles behind his back instead, and without the spandex—

“Waaaaaah, nice save, Yamayama!” Kageyama tried (very valiantly, mind you) not to feel disappointed when those magnificent thighs unwrapped from around his waist, Hinata slithering off his back and onto the ground.

The raven turned around to face the other guard and froze in his tracks, his eyes widening slightly, lips parting in a silent _lord help me._ Hinata’s cheeks were flushed, probably from the warmth and spice of the wine, and his chocolate eyes were bright. _Beautiful._

_Wait, what? No._ Maybe Tanaka and Noya had somehow mixed up the alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks? No, knowing them, they would have done it on purpose. In any case, a warmth was buzzing through Kageyama, tingling through his veins like fire as he tried to tear his eyes away from Hinata and failed miserably. _Oh no. I’ve got it bad, haven’t I?_ The voice in his head (his own voice this time) didn’t even sound worried or freaked out or panicky. It was just _resigned_. _Come on, me! Just because you’re fucked doesn’t mean you have to accept it!_

“K-Kageyama?” Hinata’s radiant smile had grown somewhat hesitant under Kageyama’s scrutiny, and now he looked almost… shy. “Is there something on my face?” 

“No, you just look even more stupid than usual.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, more instinct and reflex than anything else, but he immediately wanted to take them back as the light in Hinata’s eyes dimmed even as he eked out a laugh. Kageyama looked at his cup, nearly empty. _Yeah, I’m just gonna pretend this is alcohol._ He lifted the goblet to his lips and drained it in one go, setting it down on a tall stone pedestal that was obviously meant for a vase that had probably been smashed to smithereens. “We need to talk.” 

Kageyama started walking out of the courtyard, squeezing and sidestepping his way through throngs of people, waiting for Hinata to catch up to him at the exit before starting off again. It was quieter there, with less people wandering off from the courtyard since all the food and drinks were there. They strolled past the dining room, the (destroyed) garden, the throne room, and then they somehow wandered up the crumbling stairs to the second floor. 

They were walking through the deserted terrace garden when Hinata finally spoke. “Kageyama.” 

The raven didn’t reply, because he didn’t know what to say.

“Kageyama. Look at me.” 

_I can’t. I can’t. Not without falling in love with you all over again._

“Kageyama!”

A hand on his wrist wrenched him around into a semi-sheltered alcove, another grabbing onto his collar and forcing him to look into the concerned-livid-absolutely-totally-gorgeous eyes of Hinata Shouyou. “What?” the raven hissed, yanking his wrist back and almost stumbling into a chunk of wall.

“What’s up with you?” Hinata was shorter than Kageyama, true, but at that moment he seemed twice as tall. 

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you acting so weird? You’re— You’re not looking at me, and... I don’t know, you’re shutting me out and I don’t like it, Bakageyama!”

Kageyama recoiled at the _hurt_ in Hinata’s voice. “Why would you not like it? It’s not like we’re— we’re—” 

“Well, what if I want us to be?” 

At that moment, Hinata was standing with his back to the setting sun, and it set his hair aflame, surrounding his body in a nimbus of gold. Incandescent wings of light flared out from behind him, as bright and promising as all the possibilities Kageyama’s mind was currently running away with. _What if he wants us to be_. He swallowed. “ _I like you_ , okay?!” The words were blurted with absolutely zero delicacy, but Kageyama didn’t know how to say them any other way. “And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do about it!”

Hinata blinked, once, twice. _Go on,_ his eyes seemed to say. 

“You— You are a _disaster._ ” 

The ginger crossed his arms, looking slightly miffed. “Well… That’s nice.” 

“No, I— you’re a catastrophe in human form and I’m not supposed to like you, but I do and—” Kageyama sucked in a deep, _deep_ breath and let it whoosh out of his lungs. ”I am _confused_.” 

“About what?” 

“About _what_? About _everything_! About _why_ exactly I like you and _if_ I actually like you and why I’ve been dreaming of you every night and—” 

“You dream of me?” Now Hinata looked slightly mollified, an almost-smile on his lips.

“Of course I dream of you, I— Wait, fuck, no— I meant—” Kageyama turned around and smashed his forehead into the wall with a long-suffering groan. 

Somewhere behind him, Hinata started laughing. Loud and wild and unrestrained, almost… _happy_? “I can’t believe we’re turning _twenty_ , we sound like kids,” he gasped, trailing off into a few breathless chuckles. He hovered next to Kageyama, that stupid grin back on his face. “You know what? Kiss me.” 

Kageyama’s brain shorted out. “What? No!”

“Why not? There’s no harm in it, and then you’ll know whether you actually like me or not.”

“That doesn’t even make sense, you idiot! How would I know if it’s not just… I don’t know, lust?!” He ignored Hinata’s snide comment about being surprised that he even knew the word lust. “And I already know I like you. I just… wasn’t sure if you felt the same. Hell, I didn’t even know if you liked guys! I didn’t even know _I_ liked guys!”

His face was still pressed against the rough, crumbling stone of the wall when Hinata slid a slender hand to the back of his neck and turned his head. “Hey, Yamayama.” 

The hand was guiding him down, down, down, Hinata was stepping forward into his personal space, the sun glowing warm against his skin… Or maybe that was just the man in front of him, with hair like fire and eyes of molten brown. Hinata grabbed his hands and guided them to his hips, his fingers toying with the short strands of hair near Kageyama’s nape. The raven let his eyes slowly flutter shut as the other guard took the lead. He felt lips brush against his, plump and petal-soft, he _felt_ more than heard Hinata whisper the words, “You don’t have to be afraid, Tobio. Not with me. Never with me.” And then Kageyama was dry kindling, and Hinata was the spark that set him aflame.

Hinata’s fingers were threading into his hair, rubbing across his scalp, the other man resting his elbows on Kageyama’s shoulders. Kageyama palmed at his hips, squeezing them on reflex, and when Hinata stilled he thought that he’d done something horribly wrong and messed everything up. But then Hinata made a _sound_ low in his throat, almost like a purr, bucking his hips in Kageyama’s grip before pulling back slightly to speak. “You can touch me, you know. I want you to.” 

He reached down to cover Kageyama’s hands with his own, sliding them to his ass before returning his fingers back to ruffled raven locks like they belonged there. Kageyama gulped as Hinata pressed against him again, the proof of the ginger’s obvious arousal rubbing against him. He gave Hinata’s ass a tentative squeeze, feeling supple flesh give beneath his fingers, hearing hinata moan into his mouth, and he could feel himself growing hard and heavy beneath the waistband of his leggings. 

Hinata bit down on Kageyama’s lower lip and took advantage of his answering gasp, using the opportunity to slip his tongue into the other man’s mouth. Kageyama had the breath kissed right out of his lungs, Hinata sucking on his tongue, little flashes and nips of teeth keeping him on his toes. “You’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question. 

Hinata drew back, panting as his lips gleamed in the sunlight, wet and pink and swollen. 

_I did that,_ Kageyama thought with a burn of pride. 

“Yes.” And then, “Does that bother you?” 

“...Does it bother you that I haven’t?” 

“No. I’m glad that I’m your first. I guess… topping would be easier for you, if you want.”

Kageyama’s mouth was dry, and the air seemed adamant to not stay in his lungs. They were really going to do this. “Yeah.” He sucked in a shaky breath, leaning back down to press a kiss to Hinata’s lips. “Yeah, okay.” His fingers were shaking as he tried to undo the laces of Hinata’s leggings, tangling them up until the ginger stopped him. 

“Let me,” he said gently, loosening the ties until the waistband was loose enough to slip over his ass and down his legs. 

_Wait, he’s not— oh my god he wasn’t wearing underwear. I’m not wearing any either—_ Kageyama wasn’t even sure where his train of thought was going. Off to frolic with his long-gone dignity and courage, probably. Because Hinata was naked from the waist down, his cock already flushed and plump, a bead of precum dripping off the head. He could only stand still and shudder as Hinata pushed his leggings down too, looking up at him with those big, dark eyes. And when Hinata wrapped a hand around his cock, Kageyama couldn’t help the growl that clawed its way out of his chest. 

“You’re—” Hinata’s eyes were wide and round and Kageyama would never have thought that someone could look _innocent_ with a cock in their hand, but somehow Hinata pulled it off. “You’re so _big_.” 

Kageyama’s cock swelled even more in his hand. 

“Oh? Is that a praise kink I see?” Hinata’s grin was sharper than the edge of a blade, his fingertips fluttering over the puffy head.

“Don’t tease, Shouyou.” Kageyama couldn’t help the flush of pride that raced through his body when Hinata shuddered at the sound of his given name. 

Hinata dropped to his knees, crunching on the dry leaves that were scattered across the floor. 

“Shou? What are you—”

“Tease? You couldn’t possibly mean _this_ —” 

Kageyama canted his head back against the wall, his mouth dropping open as Hinata took the head of his cock into his mouth and sucked gently. “S-Shouyou, you don’t have to—”

Hinata pulled off, licking his lips. “I think you’re underestimating how long I’ve liked you, Tobio.” 

Kageyama could only watch and moan as Hinata swallowed his entire cock, stuffing it down his throat even as he choked around it, saliva dripping from his lips. Kageyama didn’t have experience, but he knew at least that he _was_ bigger than average. Hinata, however, was cramming him down his slender throat like he was nothing, fingers digging into Kageyama’s hips as he bobbed his head and hollowed his cheeks and worked his soft tongue around the shaft.

“You can move, you know. I’m not gonna break.” Hinata looked _wrecked_ , his eyes watering and lips slick with saliva. 

Kageyama hesitantly wove his fingers into Hinata’s orange hair, bracketing the back of his skull. “I just don’t wanna hurt you.”

The ginger’s grin was feral. “You should worry about trying not to come first.”

Wet heat wrapped around him again, and Kageyama gently bucked his hips with a soft groan. Hinata’s mouth felt so sinfully good, warm and wet and tight around his considerable length. He bucked up again, his eyes rolling up as his head hit the spongy back of Hinata’s throat, the other guard _swallowing_ and squeezing and pulsing around him. “Wait, Shou, I’m gonna—” Kageyama tugged Hinata off his cock and back to his feet, pulling him forward to lean their foreheads together. “I don’t wanna come yet. Not yet.” 

Hinata sighed, slowly licking the taste of Kageyama off his lips, his cock smearing precum all over his lower abs. “Fingers.” 

Kageyama looked down at him, a little dazed and more than a little confused. “What?” 

“Give me your fingers, Bakageyama.” He grabbed the hand that Kageyama hesitantly lifted to his lips, immediately pushing them into his mouth and wrapping his tongue around them. He licked over the delicate webbing between the digits, and Kageyama looked absolutely _gone_. His black hair was a mess, fringe tousled all over his forehead, a high flush on his cheeks. When Hinata deemed his fingers slick enough, the ginger scooted to the side and pressed his palms against the wall, spreading his legs a little and smirking at the fact that he knew Kageyama was getting an eyeful of his ass and thighs. _I didn’t do all those squats for nothing…_

“One finger first,” Hinata muttered, wiggling his hips. 

Kageyama carefully stepped forwards, his left arm sliding over Hinata’s stomach as his other index finger circled his rim. He pushed in slowly, just the tip at first before going deeper as Hinata seemed to suck at him. “Like this?” 

“Mhm, a little deeper… yeah,” the ginger breathed, tilting his head back onto Kageyama’s chest as the other man slowly drew out before pushing back in.

“You can add another.”

Kageyama stilled before pushing his middle finger in too, breath escaping his lungs as he felt Hinata squeeze around his fingers. “You okay?” 

“Mmm…” Hinata’s eyes were closed, shiny lips curving into a blissful smile. “Now curl your finge— _ah_!”

Hinata gasped as Kageyama hit _that_ spot head-on, sending lightning streaking up his spine. “A-Are you sure you haven’t done this before?” he stuttered, letting out a moan as Kageyama added another finger without needing a prompt.

“I assume this means it feels good?” Kageyama husked against his ear, licking a slow stripe up the side of his neck, giving him a particularly rough thrust that had Hinata’s knees trembling. 

Hinata was giving easily around his fingers, stretching around him and sucking him in. “You— You can—”

“Are you sure?” Kageyama murmured, brows furrowing even as he rubbed the ginger’s prostate. 

“Yes, _yes_ , fuck, I just want you inside me—”

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—_ Kageyama’s entire body was buzzing as he lined himself up with Hinata’s hole, the head of his cock kissing the sensitive rim. He slowly sunk his hips forward, feeling hot, tight heat envelop the head of his cock and then his shaft. Hinata was trembling against him, letting out little pants and moans and squirming where Kageyama had him pinned down with an arm across his stomach. The raven could feel the bulge where he was squeezing himself into Hinata, and he groaned long and low as the other man quivered around him. 

“Are you—”

“I’m fine, keep— _ngh_ — keep going,” Hinata panted, his legs trembling as Kageyama slowly drew out before sliding back in. The head of his cock rubbed against his prostate, and Hinata’s eyes couldn’t decide between fluttering shut and being wide open. “More, Tobio.”

Kageyama picked up the pace a little, rocking in and out of Hinata slow and steady, wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping him. 

Hinata suspected that he would have fallen to the ground long ago, if it weren’t for Kageyama’s arm holding him up. The other man was _big_. Hinata had only been fucked a couple of times, but none of his one-night stands had ever split him open and stuffed him to his limit like _this_. Maybe it was because this was _Kageyama_ fucking into him in particular, and the fact that his _heart_ felt full as well, glowing and brimming with happiness in his chest. The easy pace was nice, but Hinata wanted _more_. He wanted _everything_ the raven had to offer, but Kageyama’s next words made his chest ache. 

“Y-You don’t have to… make sounds or anything to make me feel better, I…”

Hinata was genuinely confused. _Does he really think that I could fake—_ His train of thought was cut off with a gasp as Kageyama circled his hips, grinding up into his prostate. 

“I know I’m inexperienced, I just—” 

“I’m not, I— F-Fuck, Tobio—”

Hinata tilted his head backwards, pressing into the firm muscle of Kageyama’s pec. _Tobio…_ He had known Kageyama for a pretty long time, but not once had he seen the raven so unsure of himself. _He’s always been so competitive, I would never have guessed… That’s it._ Hinata gazed back over his shoulder with a sly look in his eyes, tonguing at Kageyama’s sharp jaw. “Come on, Tobio. You can do better than this.” He gasped as the arm around his stomach tightened, the other man bucking into him with slightly more force. “I bet someone else could— _ah—_ fuck me better. Mmm… They’d be bigger, thicker…” Hinata grinned as he felt Kageyama’s hips thrust up into him _hard_ , the other guard’s fingers digging into his hips. _Just a little more…_ “Someone who could really make me _scream_ , make me come so hard I black out. Atsumu-san, maybe—”

Hinata nearly whined as he felt Kageyama pull out, but he could only hold on as he was hoisted into the air and pressed against the wall of the alcove with huge hands clamping around his waist and his legs hooked over biceps bulging with the strain of carrying him. _O-kay… maybe I underestimated what I was dealing with._ Then Kageyama’s mouth was crushing against his as he _dropped_ Hinata’s weight onto his cock. The ginger _screamed_ into his mouth; there was no other way to describe the sound that Kageyama more than willingly swallowed down. Hinata cried out as he throbbed around that thick, delicious cock, sucking it in as deep as it could go. 

_I definitely underestimated what I was dealing with._ Hinata was vaguely aware of tears flowing down his cheeks and dripping off his jaw, of the moans and screams and garbled mess of words that fell from his lips. His hole was doing a poor job of defending itself as Kageyama battered its barriers, tightening more and more as he was repeatedly forced down upon Kageyama’s monstrous cock. “ _Uh, uh, uh, uh, ahh!_ —” 

“What’s wrong, Shou?” Kageyama’s voice was a _growl_ as he launched Hinata up and down in his lap. “Got nothing else to say, hmm?” He slammed the other man down, relishing the long, sobbing cry he received in response. “Do you think _Atsumu-san_ could fuck you this good?”

Kageyama’s mind was mush. Hinata was hot and wet and tight and _throbbing_ around him, and he felt way too good for him to care that their noises were echoing through the terrace garden, his own huffs of exertion and Hinata’s pathetic screams and cries, the unmistakable slap of skin on skin. “One day, I am going to take my time to make you come over, and over, and _over_ ,” he snarled in Hinata’s ear, the other man writhing and quivering around him, blunt nails clawing into Kageyama’s clothed shoulders and ginger hair a mess as he threw his head back.“I’m gonna eat you out until you’re _screaming_ , fuck you so good until the only thing you remember is my name, stuff you _so_ _full_ of my cum that it _gushes_ out of you when I’m done.” He couldn’t even feel ashamed or embarrassed of his words, not when Hinata was bouncing on his cock and falling apart into pieces, twitching and screaming and a complete _mess_ all because of him.

Hinata couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, he couldn’t do anything but hold on and _take it_ as Kageyama fucked into him furiously, crammed himself into Hinata’s hole until his rim was red and raw and dripping from being pulled in and out. “Are you satisfied yet, Shou?”

“H… Harder…”

Kageyama slowed down for a moment to readjust, ignoring Hinata’s protesting whine as he dug his fingers into the other man’s magnificent ass. “You asked for this.”

“AA _-AAAAAH!_ ” Hinata screamed as he was slammed down onto Kageyama’s thick, swelling cock, the head ramming straight into his prostate as he fluttered around the shaft, _clinging_ to it like his life depended on it. “T-Tobi— Tobio— Please, _please_ —” He didn’t even know what he was begging for anymore, he just wanted— he wanted—

He _wanted_. 

Because unbeknownst to Kageyama, Hinata had been having dreams of his own. Dreams of picnics and lazy mornings and being fucked to sleep every night. Dreams of a life, a _future_ together. He _wanted_. He wanted everything Kageyama had to give. 

“ _Please._ ” 

Hinata cried out as Kageyama’s mouth pressed against his, the other man pistoning into Hinata’s prostate until the ginger was coming with a weak scream, his body shuddering and twitching on Kageyama’s cock as he spilled over their stomachs. He was limp as a rag doll as Kageyama abused his hole, fucking into him furiously until he slammed Hinata’s hips down one last time, holding him in place as Kageyama’s cock pulsed once before he came. Hinata sobbed as he felt that sticky, burning heat fill him up, stuffing him so full that globs of Kageyama’s cum were leaking down the insides of his thighs. 

Kageyama sandwiched Hinata between the wall and his own body as they caught their breath, letting go of Hinata’s legs and supporting his thighs from below as they wrapped around his waist. It took a long while before Hinata finally stopped shaking and Kageyama felt steady enough to support himself. When he finally pulled away from the wall and let Hinata down to draw out, ropes of his cum dribbled out of Hinata’s raw, fucked body, dripping in thick white strings to the ground. “Shouyou,” he gasped tiredly, his breath still coming rather fast. “Shou, you okay?” 

Hinata was still rather out of it, his eyes hazy and far away, but he replied shakily, “You’re telling me that was your _first time_?” 

Kageyama only laughed, bending down to pull his leggings up from where they had bunched around his ankles, tucking himself neatly below the waistband and tugging off his ruined shirt. “Come here, baby.” Hinata shuffled forward gingerly and the raven carefully ran his folded shirt between the other man’s thighs and over his hole, mopping up the excess cum and helping Hinata set his leggings to rights. 

Kageyama sat down against the wall and Hinata hissed as he was pulled down too, settled snug between the other man’s legs. He leaned back against Kageyama’s chest, humming in content as muscled arms slid around his torso and squished him close. He was just relaxing and letting his eyelids slide closed when he heard footsteps. By the time he sat bolt upright and turned around to look at Kageyama, the raven was also wide-eyed and on high alert, looking increasingly panicked as the footsteps got louder and were accompanied by voices. Very _familiar_ voices.

Both of them froze into statues as Yamaguchi and Tsukki walked right by them, because _oh gods please don’t let them see us._ Hinata was just blessing the little alcove and leaning back before he very nearly screamed again; Tsukki had backtracked and was staring at them with an unreadable expression, one pale brow cocked. 

“You do know that your rooms are right next to each other, right?” he snarked, waiting a moment before he winked nonchalantly and walked away. 

Fucking _winked._

“Did he just wink at us?!” Kageyama hissed, looking mortified and surprised and grateful all at the same time. “I thought that he would have thrown us into the dungeons or something!” 

Hinata blinked in disbelief. “I think the old Tsukki would have, but… Yamaguchi’s changed him a lot, hasn’t he?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, he did. Took the stick out of Tsukki’s ass, I guess.” 

“And probably got something else shoved up his own ass instead—”

“ _Idiot!_ ”

Some things never changed. 

*

Tsukki smirked as he strolled back to where Yamaguchi was waiting for him. They were still _clearly_ in Hinata and Kageyama’s earshot when the olive-haired king said, “Hmm… They’re almost as loud as us.” 

Tsukki rolled his eyes, slipping an arm around Yamaguchi’s waist as they started walking. “ _You_ , Dashi. They’re almost as loud as _you_.” 

“...Didn’t seem like it when you were moaning my name yester—” 

“ _Tadashi!_ ” 

Yamaguchi snickered, tossing his head back and leaning into Tsukki’s shoulder. “Now I’m wondering if giving them neighbouring rooms was a good idea… I have a feeling we’re all gonna need to invest in a good pair of earmuffs.” 

Tsukki slid both arms around his waist and bent down to start mouthing at Yamaguchi’s neck. “Mmm, maybe they’ll be the ones needing earmuffs.” 

“Kei. Our room’s literally only one floor up, you can wait. This isn’t _proper—_ ” It was rather hard to concentrate while Tsukki seemed intent on sucking a hickey onto his throat.

“Since when did you care for conduct or decorum?” 

“Since, like, two hours ago. When we got _crowned_.” 

“Tch, exactly. We’re the kings now. We make the rules. Now let me celebrate with you, Dashi.” Tsukki finally pulled back to look into Yamaguchi’s eyes, his glasses slightly askew.

“...Oh, alright. But if anyone catches us, I’m withholding sex for a week _—_ ” 

“If you can resist my charms that long.” 

Yamaguchi laughed as Tsukki pulled him under a flowering trellis of butterfly pea flowers and tilted his chin up, pressing a kiss to his lips. The blond smiled, because they were alive, they were happy, their plan had come through and they had the rest of their lives ahead of them. _The saying was right… Just because something glitters doesn’t mean that it’s gold,_ Tsukki mused as Yamaguchi grinned against the crook of his neck, pressing a kiss to his skin. _Because your eyes never glittered like gold, did they?_

_They held the light of a thousand stars instead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go, y’all! And it’s the royal wedding~


	16. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I won't be silent and I won't let go  
> I will hold on tighter 'til the afterglow  
> And we'll burn so bright 'til the darkness softly clears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! I’m so sorry this chapter is really late, I did _not_ expect life to kick my ass this hard *nervous laughter intensifies*  
> Well, you know what they say; let’s go out with a (literal) bang ;)

_Chin up._

_Breathe._

_Try not to trip and fall and twist off your ankle._

_I repeat, try not to trip and fall and twist off your ankle._

The silence was both comforting and absolutely terrifying at the same time. The golden double doors before him were humongous, heavy and solid and strong and steady and nothing like what Yamaguchi felt at all. His fingers were trembling. No, his entire body was trembling, but from anticipation or nervousness, he couldn’t tell. 

He had never imagined his own wedding day before; he hadn’t even had a love interest before. But here he was, draped in a gauzy white gown and a pair of laced-up heeled sandals, both of them spangled with stars like someone had stolen those bright, glowing specks straight out of the sky and scattered them generously across his body.

He felt uncomfortable, like he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. He was feeling wholly unworthy of the dress and the shoes and the white gold tiara of stars and pearls and diamonds that had been placed upon his head, like he was… sullying them somehow. The clothes he’d donned at the coronation hadn’t even been this bad. It was taking him a while to get accustomed to all the riches and precious things that Tsukki showered him with; Yamaguchi’s family hadn’t been poor by a long shot, but he was wearing more wealth on his body than he had ever seen in his life. 

Suga and Kiyoko had puttered around him for _ages_. They’d left him to soak in a bath of honeyed milk and rose petals, first, before he had been guided out and his skin polished with an amber-like liquid flecked with flakes of gold. Suga had brushed powdered pearl onto his cheekbones, bridge and collarbone, and darkened his lashes and eyebrows with crushed bark. Kiyoko had stained his lips and cheeks red with beetroot, weaving part of his hair into a braid crown after she’d brushed it through with more of that sweet-smelling amber-gold liquid. 

They had slipped the dress up and over Yamaguchi’s hips before hooking the loops onto his shoulders, letting the sheer, starry outer layer drape around him. And when Yamaguchi looked into the mirror, a stranger had stared back. Pink cheeks, pink lips, eyes bright and framed by long, dark lashes. Freckles sparkling like a galaxy across his nose and cheekbones, his entire body glowing like the sun lived beneath his skin. 

Yamaguchi loved it. He really did. 

But a commoner like him didn’t deserve such finery. 

When he’d said those exact words to Suga and Kiyoko, they had only glanced at each other with conspiratorial smirks quirking their lips. “He’ll convince you,” they had laughed softly, Suga setting the crown of stars upon his braided hair and pinning it in place with pearl pins. 

That very crown was heavy upon his head as Yamaguchi waited for his cue to enter the throne room. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to quell the trembling in his knees as he shifted his weight from one heeled foot to the other. He felt rather uncomfortable, yes, but it was nothing compared to the joy that swelled his heart. He was getting _married_ to the man he loved. 

The blare of an oboe startled Yamaguchi enough that he jumped and almost turned his ankle. He and Tsukki had wanted a simple ceremony, in their throne room instead of the church, and in the absence of an organ they’d had to make do with the court musicians. They had restored the palace to its former glory, with a few changes here and there (Tsukki insisted on putting chaise lounges in every room, much to Yamaguchi’s amusement). 

Yamaguchi could feel his spine uncurl, his chin lifting as he wiggled his toes against the laces of his sandals. _I’m a king. I led a rebellion. I can do this._

It felt different from all the times he’d practiced, somehow, the heels of his sandals clicking lightly against the tiled floor as two royal guards pulled the doors open and the music swelled tenfold. The guest count was small; only the eleven other rebellion leaders and their families, the foreign princes and their guards, and a few handpicked people (namely just Ukai, Takeda and the Miya twins). They had left out three empty chairs for Yachi and Yamaguchi’s parents, and the olive-haired man felt his chest tighten. Yamaguchi still felt undeserving of his clothes and dress and crown. But Tsukki… Tsukki was looking at him like he deserved all the stars in the galaxy and more.

As soon as their eyes locked across the room, it became easier to breathe, more natural to walk as Yamaguchi stopped worrying about tripping in his heels. Tsukki’s gaze was a magnet, pulling him forward, forward, forward until he was standing on the small raised platform where the thrones usually rested. Tsukki looked incredible in his slim-cut navy suit, and Yamaguchi smirked slightly. _I’m gonna enjoy ripping that off him later…_

The blond picked up Yamaguchi’s hand and slowly pressed soft lips to his knuckles, and Yamaguchi had a flashback of him doing the same thing to Tsukki, on that night that seemed so long ago when they’d broken out of the palace dungeons. But while pain and horror had filled Tsukki’s eyes that night, they were now glowing honey-gold with happiness and love. So, so, so much love. Tsukki still hadn’t let go of his hand, and his eyebrows were quirked as if to say, _all this fuss when we’re basically already married._ Yamaguchi had to fight with his lungs to choke down the giggle that was crawling up his windpipe. 

Asahi was officiating (of course; who else?), hands clasped loosely behind his back. “Your vows, please, King Yamaguchi.” 

Yamaguchi cleared his throat, shifting slightly as his dress brushed the floor just barely. Tsukki took his other hand, fingers long and pale and slender against his own tanned skin, and Yamaguchi felt an unexpected sting at the back of his eyes. He cleared his throat again. “Tsukishima Kei. From the day I met you, I was drawn to you like a magnet. I told myself not to get involved with you, because you were trouble, don’t even try to deny it.” There was a round of soft chuckles, even from Tsukki himself as the blond shook his head slightly. “But I was wrong about you. You are the most loyal, protective and caring person I know, and my greatest wish is to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life.” Yamaguchi knew that they were blessed, to be able to marry out of love and not for a business deal. He was blessed to have found someone who looked at him the way Tsukki was looking at him. He couldn’t look away. “I love you. Always and forevermore, I love you, Tsukishima Kei.” 

Tsukki swallowed, his eyes skipping like a stone over Yamaguchi’s features. His dark eyes, his plush lips, his silken hair. The slim swell of his hips draped in gauzy, starry white. The sharp cut of his collarbone, glowing under the light of the candelabras hanging from the ceiling. “Yamaguchi Tadashi. I think I loved you a little bit already when I met you, because your eyes… I don’t tell you how beautiful your eyes are, do I? Not nearly enough.” He smiled as Yamaguchi laughed, nose scrunching slightly, tears already gathering on his lashes. “And I know that getting married means that we’re getting joined in the eyes of a god.” Tsukki prayed that a bolt of lightning wouldn’t come from the heavens to strike him down after he spoke his next words, but they had to be said. “But how could I think of God when you’re right here in my arms, radiant as you are?” Tsukki reached up to swipe a tear from Yamaguchi’s cheek, even as a teardrop fell down his own. “You are my god now. I pledge myself to you, Yamaguchi Tadashi. I give you my heart; I gave it to you a long time ago, actually.” It was like returning to a home he’d only recently realised he had, the feel of Yamaguchi’s skin against his, the way the man he loved nuzzled into his palm, littering small kisses over his fingers. “Take care of it for me, will you?”

Yamaguchi didn’t need any prompting from Asahi after Tsukki was done. He was keenly aware of all the eyes on him, but he only had eyes for the man in front of him. “I, Yamaguchi Tadashi, take thee, Tsukishima Kei, to be my lawfully wedded husband.” A choked laugh fought its way out of Yamaguchi’s chest, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, even as tears flowed freely down his cheeks. “To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

They were both crying horribly now, but neither of them seemed to care. Tsukki could hear some sniffles from the crowd, and either Hinata or Tanaka noisily blew his nose, but he chose not to comment for once. “I, Tsukishima Kei, take thee, Yamaguchi Tadashi, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

Asahi looked like he was on the verge of breaking down into tears himself, but he managed to pull it together and retrieve the rings from a pocket of his robes, passing one each to Tsukki and Yamaguchi. The olive-haired man had to take a moment to admire the identical bands; white gold with three small diamonds set into the top. He held out both hands for Tsukki to slip his engagement ring onto his right hand and slide the new ring on snugly, the blond holding out both hands for Yamaguchi to do the same. 

“I now pronounce you bonded for life.” Even Asahi was crying now, not-so-discreetly trying to dab away his tears. Yamaguchi watched something sharpen in Tsukki’s gaze before hands were around his waist and he was being pulled into a firm chest and his husband was kissing the life out of him. He barely noticed the cheers of their friends as Tsukki parted his lips, licking into his mouth until they were both light-headed and out of breath. 

The rest of the room was in chaos. What had used to be quiet, orderly rows of seats were now a crowd of crying, cheering people; Noya and Tanaka were sobbing into each other’s shoulders while Kiyoko patted their backs soothingly, sneakily wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Suga was curled up in Daichi’s lap, cheering happily with Oikawa who was draped all over Iwaizumi. Even Kenma had a small smile on his face from where he was lounging against Kuroo’s side, the black-haired guard whooping loudly along with Bokuto who was seated beside him. Akaashi was smiling happily next to them, and somehow Hinata, Kinoshita and Tendou were spread-eagled on the floor next to each other while Ushijima looked down at them curiously, while nearby Kageyama was screaming into his palms with his forehead pressed to the wall. Osamu was chatting calmly to Takeda and Ennoshita, and Ukai, Narita and Miwa were just staring at the pandemonium, seemingly having given up on restoring any semblance of propriety. 

Tsukki turned to Yamaguchi slowly, his face the absolute textbook definition of fond exasperation. “Why do we hang out with these idiots again?” he drawled grouchily, leading Yamaguchi off the platform as the other man giggled. 

“Because we’re family, Kei. We stick together,” he replied, pressing a quick kiss to his husband’s cheek before he stilled, looking around. “Hey, where’s the other twin… Atsumu?”

Tsukki tried to look over the crowd, and he tugged Yamaguchi towards the edge of the room. “There, look.” He pointed to the dark-curly-haired man who had helped them on the ship, the one with two moles on his forehead; Daichi had managed to track him down and invite him. “What did Daichi call him again? Sakusa?”

“Mmm… Yeah, I think that’s it.” 

Sakusa was currently wearing an impressive scowl of supreme annoyance, the result of the blond man who was currently stuck to his side. Yamaguchi scooted a bit closer and managed to catch a snippet of their conversation. 

“C’mon, Omi-kun, y’know ya wanna—” Atsumu wheedled, waggling his eyebrows.

Sakusa just scowled even deeper. “No, I do not _wanna_ , Miya. I’m not going to teach you how to sail—”

“Oh, come on, I told you I would pay you!”

“You’d sink the ship and drown both of us before we’d have even left the harbour.”

“I would _not_ —”

Yamaguchi stifled a giggle to avoid drawing any attention. “They sound like Kageyama and Hinata.”

Tsukki looked over to where Hinata had managed to coax Kageyama to sit cross-legged on the floor and was now perched victoriously in his lap like some sort of bird. _A too-loud bird. That’s neon orange._ “Well, this is gonna be fun,” the blond huffed in resignation, already calculating how many brain cells he would lose throughout the rest of the day. 

“Nobody’s looking, Kei, I wanna go to the koi pond!” Yamaguchi tugged on his wrist, eyes lighting up with childish excitement before he leaned in conspiratorially. “I need to see if it’s deep enough to completely dunk Hinata and Kageyama into.”

Tsukki very nearly snorted. Sometimes, he forgot the mischief that was hiding beneath Yamaguchi’s starboy-sunshine-child facade. “You know I could never say no to you.”

*

Yamaguchi exhaled as he stepped into Tsukki’s old bedroom, stretching his arms above his head with a satisfied grunt. He let a happy sigh slip from his lips as long arms wound around his middle from behind, Tsukki leaning down to press a kiss to the back of his neck. “Tired?” 

“Mmm.” It had been an exhausting day, packed with ridiculous shenanigans; the koi pond had indeed been deep enough to submerge Kageyama and Hinata. Everybody had found out after Noya and Tanaka had tossed them in with a slightly-deranged scream of “Just get married already!!” and the two guards had emerged sputtering and blushing bright red, dripping icky green pond scum all over the place. 

Tsukki was impressed. Yamaguchi had somehow persevered and stayed in his dress and heels the entire day; his feet had to be killing him. The olive-haired man yelped as Tsukki scooped him up princess-style, carrying him to the bed and gently setting him down. The blond knelt down on the floor and started undoing the star-adorned laces of Yamaguchi’s heels, slipping the torture devices off his husband’s feet when they were finally untangled. 

Yamaguchi sighed in bliss, putting his feet back on the ground and wiggling his toes into the plush fur carpet that had been spread over the ground. “Ahh, much better.” 

He leant back onto his hands as Tsukki grabbed one of his calves, fingers pinching his Achilles tendon and rubbing upwards. The blond looked up at his husband. Yamaguchi’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back. “You’re amazing, you know,” Tsukki mumbled, working his way up Yamaguchi’s tense calf, feeling the muscles slowly give beneath his fingers. 

“Hmm?” Yamaguchi hummed absentmindedly, already half-asleep.

“Yeah. Running around in those killer heels all day, struggling with this dress.” Tsukki smoothed a hand over the tulle of Yamaguchi’s long skirt, the hem bunched above his forearms. His only reply was a noncommittal hum and he sighed, switching to his husband’s other calf. “Sleep, Tadashi. I’ll be right here.” 

Yamaguchi’s eyes snapped open, and he struggled up from where he had lain down across the mattress. “Wait— On our wedding night—”

Tsukki smiled softly, still kneading at Yamaguchi’s second calf. “We don’t have to.” 

“But—”

“We will have plenty of other nights for that, Tadashi. I can tell you’re tired.”

“...Not even if you do all the work?” 

Tsukki could hear the challenge, the teasing inflection in Yamaguchi’s voice. _You already know that I can’t say no to you._ He slowly leaned down and set his lips on the inside of Yamaguchi’s knee, gently nibbling on the skin as he pushed his husband’s skirt up. Yamaguchi still smelled sweet, the remnants of whatever Suga and Kiyoko had rubbed into his skin lasting until the night. 

Tsukki took his time kissing up Yamaguchi’s knee and over his thigh, pushing the skirt up as he went. Yamaguchi fidgeted against the bed, wiggling around from where he was laying in his back, shuddering as Tsukki pushed a bare palm over the sensitive skin of his stomach. 

Yamaguchi struggled upright again to shrug his dress over his head, his cock already getting plump and hard in his briefs as Tsukki kissed all over the insides of his thighs. He reached up to tug the circlet out of his braids, but something must have caught, because a sharp lance of pain stabbed at his scalp everytime he tugged, swearing under his breath.

“Here, let me,” Tsukki whispered softly, releasing his grip on Yamaguchi’s thighs and standing up to carefully untangle strands of olive hair from where they had twisted around the small metal stars. He pulled a couple of pearl-tipped pins from the silken mess, setting them carefully on the bedside table for safekeeping before he lifted away the entire circlet. “There we go.” 

“Thanks, Kei,” Yamaguchi murmured gratefully, reaching up to grip the lapels of Tsukki’s suit and pull him down for a kiss. The blond tilted his head to the side, running his tongue along the seam of Yamaguchi’s lips. He couldn’t imagine ever tiring of the beautiful man beneath him; his husband’s mouth was sweet and warm, tongue sliding over Tsukki’s own as they deepened the kiss. It was easy enough for Tsukki to lay down on his side without them separating, cradling Yamaguchi’s head with his arm. 

“How do you want me?” Tsukki pulled back for air, panting the question against Yamaguchi’s parted lips. 

The other man did not disappoint. “I want you to fuck me to sleep, Kei.” 

Tsukki’s cock twitched in his pants, straining against the fabric. “That I can do.” 

He slowly slipped a hand into Yamaguchi’s briefs, wrapping a hand around his cock and rutting his hips forward gently as his husband shuddered. Tsukki slid his slick fingers back enough to circle Yamaguchi’s rim, his other hand slipping into his own pants. It didn’t take too long to work Yamaguchi open three fingers wide, and the olive-haired man was gasping and twitching around Tsukki’s digits before the blond finally stopped teasing. 

“Turn around, sweetheart.” Tsukki gently guided Yamaguchi to roll onto his side so that they were pressed chest to back, and he pulled Yamaguchi’s leg back over his own so that his husband was spread open. His own dick was hard and flushed, dripping beads of precum that rolled down the shaft in pearly lines.

Yamaguchi shuddered as he felt the fat, puffy tip rub against his stretched hole, pressing in slowly until Tsukki was fully seated inside of him. Sure, Yamaguchi loved it when his husband was pounding him into the mattress until he screamed loud enough to wake their ancestors, but he loved this too; sometimes, Tsukki didn’t even need to move and they’d stay like this for hours. He sighed as the blond rocked his hips forwards gently, the head of his cock pressing against Yamaguchi’s prostate. 

Tsukki wrapped a hand around Yamaguchi’s length, pumping him gently. He could feel Yamaguchi stiffening against him, his husband’s quivering ridges tightening around his cock. He wouldn’t last long.

“Kei… I’m close,” Yamaguchi gasped breathlessly, his heel digging into the back of Tsukki’s thigh. 

Tsukki squeezed Yamaguchi’s cock in his palm, feeling the precum dribble over his fingers in warm spurts. He kept up the same steady pace, rocking into Yamaguchi gently even as that wet heat pulsed around him.

Yamaguchi inhaled softly, his eyelids fluttering as Tsukki grinded into his prostate. “K-Kei—”

Tsukki squeezed him with firm fingers, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “I know, Dashi.”

“ _Kei!_ ”

“Shh, I know, sweetheart. Almost there…”

A twist of Tsukki’s wrist and Yamaguchi was gone, tumbling over the edge of pleasure as he came into his husband’s hand, his ass clenching down tight. Two more thrusts and wet, sticky heat was filling him up from the inside, leaving him feeling impossibly full and very, very drowsy. 

“Sleep, Tadashi. I’ve got you.”

Those were the last words Yamaguchi heard before he felt strong, lean arms pulling him into a warm embrace. 

*

Yamaguchi woke to the sound of birds chirping softly outside their window and someone running gentle fingers through his hair. His eyes fluttered open, only to snap nearly completely shut as his eyeballs were viciously assaulted by the morning sunlight. 

“Hey, beautiful.”

 _Ooh, the voice. It’s the voice._ Yamaguchi would never get enough of hearing Tsukki’s morning rock-salt rasp, would never get enough of being the one that Tsukki bestowed his day’s first words upon.

“Mmm… G’morning, Kei,” he mumbled back with a sleepy smile, stretching his arms above his head and yawning. _Huh. I’m clean,_ Yamaguchi realised, noticing that he was wearing fresh clothes, not a trace of cum anywhere. He inched his eyelids apart, and even though the light stabbed his eyes with needles, the view made it totally worth it. Tsukki’s hair was a mess of short golden curls that were fluffed up every which way, glasses sitting crooked on his nose. He was staring at his husband with an incredibly endearing expression, and Yamaguchi couldn’t resist reaching out to tap him gently on the nose. “Boop.”

Tsukki smiled gently, leaning in and dropping a kiss on the tip of Yamaguchi’s nose before pulling back. “Boop.” 

“You’re such a dork, you know that?” Yamaguchi laughed, trailing off into an exaggerated yawn.

Tsukki chuckled, a warm, deep rumble from deep in his chest. He leaned down to press another kiss to Yamaguchi’s temple. “Only for you, my king.” 

“Careful, Kei. Keep this up and I might just fall in love with you.”

“Too bad. We just got married yesterday.”

Yamaguchi grinned even wider than before. “Oh my god, we’re married.” He turned to Tsukki. “We’re _married_.”

“I am well aware of that, yes,” the blond replied with a flawlessly raised eyebrow. “Any regrets?”

“Nope. You’re stuck with me forever now.”

Tsukki laughed outright, tackling Yamaguchi back down onto the mattress. “Damn right I am.” 

  
Tsukki looked down at his husband beneath him, glowing brightly as a star. His very own personal galaxy. _And I’m not going anywhere_. He leaned down and told Yamaguchi the rest of his words through a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it!! Thanks for sticking around to the end of the story! It’s been an absolutely crazy journey (including more than a few writer’s blocks and a lot of sleep deprivation) but we’ve made it to the end :D 
> 
> Hang around and subscribe!! I’ll be starting a new work ASAP, and I already have the first chapter half-written (psst psst sakuatsu + kitsune + red string of fate)
> 
> Love y’all!! Mwah mwah 🥰 I’ll see you soon :>

**Author's Note:**

> no beta we die like fucking men so please excuse this crack my brain comes up with


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